


born in your blue tints

by ceserabeau



Series: your body [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse of italics, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Billy is Alive, Blow Jobs, But not much plot, Christmas, Clubbing, Coitus Interruptus, Come Eating, Coming In Pants, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Exhibitionism, Facials, Groping, Hangover, Jealous Steve, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Moving In Together, Not Canon Compliant, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panties, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, Swearing, Thanksgiving, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Walking In On Someone, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceserabeau/pseuds/ceserabeau
Summary: “What are you doing?” Steve asks slowly.Billy gives him a look, butter wouldn’t melt, innocent as you like. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: your body [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141850
Comments: 13
Kudos: 139





	1. Chapter 1

The moment they get the last box through the apartment door and shut it behind them, Steve’s legs give out. He falls down onto the couch with a groan.

“I’m dead,” he says, draping an arm over his eyes. “I can’t move. You’re gonna have to carry me to bed.”

“Such a fucking drama queen,” Billy bitches. He bats at Steve’s legs. Waits for Steve to drag himself upright before he sits down facing him with a heavy thump. “Jesus, I swear we don’t have that much stuff.”

They really don’t. A few boxes and bags. And none of it’s heavy shit – they don’t have plates and bowls or pots and pans. It’s not like they were moving furniture either; this place came with everything. But lugging what they do have up three flights of stairs after driving four hours cross-country is exhausting. Steve’s so tired he’s gonna fall asleep right here.

Or he would if his stomach wasn’t telling him it’s dinner time. Shit. The prospect of going to the grocery store right now is horrible. His legs aren’t gonna carry him anywhere except straight to bed.

“We should order pizza,” he says. “I’m starving.”

“Uh-huh,” Billy says in a tone that means he’s not listening at all.

Steve peels his arm away from his face. Billy’s watching him, head titled, eyes focused in a way that normally comes right before he does something gross or hot or gross-and-hot, like spit on Steve’s face and then make him beg for his dick.

“What?” Steve asks, already bracing himself.

Billy doesn’t spit on him. Doesn’t make him beg. But he does shove at Steve with his foot, pushes his legs apart. Digs his heel into the meat of Steve’s inner thigh. Drags up until his toes are resting right over Steve’s crotch.

Steve freezes. His stomach grumbles again but there are bigger things to worry about. Namely Billy’s toes digging into his dick, working it in a way that makes it perk up in interest.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks slowly.

Billy gives him a look, butter wouldn’t melt, innocent as you like. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re trying to jerk me off with your foot.”

Billy’s eyebrow ticks up, like he’s shocked. Like that’s not exactly what he’s doing. “You want me to?”

His tone’s all neutral, so Steve can’t really tell if he’s actually into rubbing his feet all over Steve’s dick or he’s just doing it to fuck with him. Steve’s not opposed to the idea, it feels all kinds of good, but –

“Seems real inefficient when your hand’s right there.”

He leans back. Pushes his hips up into Billy’s foot. Enjoys the way Billy’s eyes darken. The toes in his lap press down harder.

“Or when _your_ hand’s right there,” Billy says. Then his foot’s gone and he’s leaning back, nodding towards Steve’s dick pointedly. “Come on, show me.”

Steve’s already got his jeans undone before he suddenly becomes aware of just how dark it is outside and just how bright it is in here. The windows in the living room are big, look directly into the building opposite, and the two of them must be lit up like a movie screen, the Billy-and-Steve show for all their neighbours to see. They’re not hiding who or what they are – two guys sharing a one-bedroom apartment a few blocks from Boystown, anyone with half a brain can probably figure out they’re not just roommates – but there’s a big difference between knowing and witnessing first-hand.

“The neighbours –”

Billy, predictably, doesn’t give a shit. “Let ‘em see,” he says. He spreads his legs, sweatpants stretching tight over his dick and he’s hard too, just as hard as Steve. “Come on, Harrington. Don’t pussy out on me.”

One day Steve’ll get sick of Billy knowing where all his buttons are, but today is not that day. He shoves his jeans down, gets his dick out. Licks his hand to get it wet enough. Strokes himself the way he likes, tight and rough and fast. He’ll get off in no time with Billy’s eyes on him and his honey-sweet voice filling the room.

But Billy’s got other plans. “You should slow down,” he says. “Gotta give the neighbours a proper show.”

Steve’s dick kicks in his hand and what the fuck is that about? He doesn’t want the neighbours seeing him like this, it’d be so _embarrassing_ , him fucking his own hand just because Billy told him to, all desperate – and there goes his dick again, pulsing and spurting over his fingers. Oh shit, maybe he does want them to see? What the fuck? Who knew he such a fucking pervert?

Billy catches it, of fucking course, eyes lighting up like that traitorous twitch is the best thing he’s seen all day.

“Oh, you like that?” He licks his lips. Flashes Steve a sharp smile. “Them seeing you like this? All hot and bothered? Showing off for me?”

“Shut up,” Steve tells him, but it comes out broken around a moan. Fuck, that’s not good, that’s just giving Billy more ammunition.

Billy just laughs. “Yeah, you like it, you kinky fuck.” Steve snorts; pot meet fucking kettle. Billy smiles again like he knows what Steve’s thinking. “Go on then,” he says, “Show them what you’re doing. Spread your legs.”

Steve spreads them. It turns him towards the window, puts him more on show. Anyone looking in right now is gonna get an eyeful but fuck the neighbours; they can watch if they want. That’s their business. Steve doesn’t even really give a shit anymore, because he’s got a hand on his dick and Billy’s eyes watching his every move.

“Yeah, like that.” Billy’s got his hands on himself now, rubbing slow over the line of his dick with one hand, pinching at his nipples through his t-shirt with the other. The sigh he lets out hits Steve low in the gut. “Go faster for me.”

Steve couldn’t slow down even if he tried. He works his hand faster, tightens it more. Tries not to come too soon, even though he can feel it building, his balls tightening up, his skin buzzing with the weight of Billy’s gaze on him.

“You close?” Billy asks.

It takes three tries, but finally Steve manages a “Yeah” that isn’t just pure breathlessness.

Billy nods, eyes rapt. “Yeah, you are. You gonna come for me? Show the neighbours how much you like me talking to you, telling you what to do?”

Jesus Christ, the mouth on him. Every word pushes Steve closer to the edge. Surely Billy can see it, how desperate Steve is for him, for his words and his voice? He must be able to because he licks his lips. Slides his hand under his waistband, jerks himself once, twice.

“Come on then, baby,” he says, hips hitching into his fist. “Come for me. They’re all watching.”

That’s it, it’s over, Steve’s done. Comes so hard his head feels like it’s gonna explode, all over his hand and his jeans and his t-shirt. Can only close his eyes and try to remember what breathing is as he rides it out.

“Damn, baby,” Billy’s saying when the ringing in his ears stops. “Knew you’d like that but not how _much_.”

Steve cracks an eye open. “Fuck off.”

Billy laughs. Says “Yeah, yeah,” as he shoves his sweatpants down, pulls his dick out. He’s hard and red and Steve might’ve just come but his mouth is watering. He already got to blow Billy in the corner of a rest stop somewhere outside Plymouth but fuck if he doesn’t want to again.

“You look hungry,” Billy says with a grin. Strokes his dick slowly, _slowly_ so that all the wetness beads at the tip. “Want a taste?”

God, he’s so gross – but he’s not wrong. Steve wants a taste. More than a taste. It’s like he ate the forbidden fruit and now he can’t unknow what Billy tastes like on his tongue, how well he fills his mouth.

Billy smiles at him, sharp and smug and so fucking hot. “Come on, baby,” he says. “Come and get it.”

Steve crawls forward. Sprawls on his front on the cushions, props himself up on his elbows and breathes hot over Billy’s dick. It jerks, splatters a little against Steve’s cheek.

“Fuck,” Billy says faintly above him.

Christ, how must they look like – if the neighbours weren’t getting a show before they sure are now.

Up close Billy smells sweaty, kinda musky as Steve sinks his mouth down over him. He hasn’t got much leverage, can’t really fuck Steve’s mouth the way Steve really wants him to, but he has got a hand in his hair. Uses it to move Steve how he wants him. Groans every time he drags Steve down so far his dick hits the back of his throat.

It doesn’t take long. Billy’s all worked up, leaking salty over Steve’s tongue. He shoves Steve down, comes with a shout down his throat. Holds him down even though he’s choking on his dick, come and spit dripping out the side of his mouth. When he finally lets Steve up, he’s panting like he’s run a marathon.

“Christ,” Billy groans. “Holy shit, Harrington. Your mouth.”

Steve grins. Sucks gently at the head of Billy’s dick to make him squirm. Good to know Steve’s not the only one affected by this shit.

Billy pulls him off with a less than gentle hand in his hair. Presses a thumb into Steve’s spit-slick lip. “Twice in one day,” he says, “Didn’t know you were such a slut.”

 _Slut_ – it burns through Steve so hot his hips grind down into the couch before he even realises what he’s doing. _Christ._ If he wasn’t embarrassed before he is now. Since when was that a thing for him? Fucking Billy, getting him all twisted up with his words. Above him, Billy laughs.

“Shut the fuck up,” Steve snaps.

He tries to duck his head away, but Billy’s got him caught, doesn’t let him go. Just grins broadly down at him, all blue eyes and blonde curls and five o’clock shadow, beauty personified.

“You're too fucking cute,” he says, like he can help it, and Steve’s already blushing but that sets his face on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there’d be a sequel but turns out this isn’t so much a sequel as just situational porn in a kinda chronological order. You don’t really have to have read the first story but it’d probably make more sense if you did.
> 
> Title from Hot Sugar by Glass Animals.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve’s panic-packing his bag for Thanksgiving when Billy plants a hand between his shoulder blades and bends him facedown over the bed.

“Billy,” Steve says as the zip of his duffel digs into his cheek, “I need to leave. I should’ve left like twenty minutes ago. There’s gonna be so much traffic on Lake Shore.”

Billy ignores him. Twists Steve’s arm behind his back when he tries to push up. Puts a proprietary hand on Steve’s ass and squeezes hard.

“Stay where I put you, Harrington.”

Steve’s traitor dick twitches in his jeans. He shouldn’t be getting hard from this – but god, there’s nothing quite like Billy holding him down, keeping Steve right where he wants him. It’s kinda ridiculous how easy he is for it.

“Billy,” he says again. Tries to think of unsexy things like his dad’s underwear and their neighbour’s beer belly and all the paperwork stacked on his desk at work. “Billy, come on. I’ll be late.”

“Yeah,” Billy says, “You will.”

Steve squirms a bit, tests his grip. If he really tried he could get out of it, Billy would let him get out of it. He told his parents he’d be there by two. On the other hand, he isn’t gonna see Billy for nearly four days. The idea of going that long without waking up next to Billy or kissing him or holding him or fucking him – it makes him ache. Maybe one for the road isn’t a bad idea. It’s not like his parents are even gonna notice if he gets in at three rather than two.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be late.”

He can’t see Billy’s smile but he can feel it in the way he squeezes Steve’s wrist, rubs a thumb over the curve of his ass. Then he’s unbuckling Steve’s belt. Yanking his jeans and boxers down to his knees. Trapping Steve but in a good way – the _best_ way.

“Hands above your head,” Billy says. And then, when Steve stretches them out and digs his fingers into the dark blue cotton of their comforter, “Yeah that’s it, keep them there.”

Steve lays there, silent and still, as the drawer by the bed squeaks open. As Billy pops the cap on the lube and slicks up his fingers. As Billy spreads his cheeks and slides a cold-wet finger down his crack.

Billy works him up slow. One finger, two, three. Hits all the right notes, fucks him slow and deep. Pushes him to the edge, to where he’s barely hanging on, then slows right down. Practically stops, the motherfucker. Steve groans so loud the whole neighbourhood must be able to hear.

“Fuck, Billy – come on – you gotta –”

Billy shushes him. Pushes his fingers in just the right way to make Steve moan, to make his dick pulse against the bed. Does it again so that Steve’s panting, twisting his hands in the covers so he doesn’t break the rules and try to touch himself.

And then he stops again. For good. Pulls his fingers out and makes no move to replace them with his dick.

“Come on,” he says, smacking at Steve’s hip. “You’re gonna be late.”

What the fuck? Is he actually gonna leave Steve hanging?

Steve pushes himself up onto his elbows, looks over his shoulder. Billy’s got this wide-eyed, _who me?_ expression on his face like he’s innocent of all charges, but the slant of his grin says he’s absolutely gonna leave Steve hanging.

“You asshole.”

Well if Billy’s not gonna give him a hand, Steve’ll just have to do it himself. But when he reaches down, Billy grabs his wrists again. Uses his whole weight to bear Steve down into the bed. Steve struggles but it’s no good; Billy’s got him well and truly pinned this time.

“No, baby,” he says, right into Steve’s ear, breath hot on his skin. “You’re not gonna touch yourself. Not now, not while you’re away. I’m the only one that gets to do that.”

His words slowly filter through the blood pounding in Steve’s ears.

“ _What_?”

Billy laughs, a little mean. “You heard me. You’re not gonna touch yourself.” He licks at Steve’s neck, bites down so hard Steve jerks under him. “You’re not gonna come.”

Good one. There’s literally no way Steve’s gonna manage that. Especially not right now, with his dick hard as a rock, his ass so slick with lube it’s practically dripping out of him. The second Billy lets go of him, Steve’s definitely gonna jerk off.

Billy’s fingers dig harder into Steve’s wrists like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “You do this for me, I’ll make it worth your while when you come back.”

Steve wants that. But like, he wants it _now_. Wants Billy to fuck him so hard he’ll have bruises he can press his fingers to in his bed in Hawkins while he jerks off. It’s not like Billy can’t – he’s definitely hard against Steve’s ass. All he’d have to do is take his sweatpants off and he could slide right in.

“Billy, come on.” Steve grinds back against him, listens to Billy’s sharp inhale when his dick slides just right between his cheeks. “Just fuck me already.”

But Billy’s having none of it. He lets go of Steve’s wrists, gets up. Moves far enough away that all Steve can feel is cold air behind him.

“Up, Steve,” he says. “You gotta get on the road.”

What an asshole. Steve rolls over to glare at him. His dick bobs red and swollen against his stomach.

“You can’t just – just leave me like this.”

Billy laughs, totally unrepentant. “I can. I am.” His eyes skate from Steve’s face down to his dick; they both watch it pulse under his attention. “And you’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna do what I say.”

The thing is, he’s not wrong. Steve’s very much into Billy telling him what to do. When Billy orders him to jump, he and his dick and his dignity will always ask how high. But this is a lot. This is nearly four whole days. Four days of boredom where his only options are to hang out with his parents or hang out with the kids or watch TV or like, read a book. Or – and this is the very best or – jerk off. To thoughts of Billy.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. You’re gonna.” The look on Billy’s face shifts slides into something so intense Steve shudders. “Don’t you wanna be a good boy for me?”

Fuck. That’s it, that gets him every time and Billy knows it. Has him hook, line and sinker and Steve doesn’t even really want to fight it, not when Billy calling him a good boy makes sparks shoot up his spine.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

Billy’s eyes gleam like diamonds. “Thought so.” He holds out his hands for Steve to take. “Come on, up. If you go now you might not hit traffic.”

Steve lets Billy help him up. Tries not to moan or whine or squirm when Billy pulls his jeans up and tucks his dick away. Even manages not to rub a sneaky hand over himself to relieve the pressure when Billy leaves the bedroom to go find Steve’s car keys for him.

When he’s finally pulled himself together and packed what he needs, Billy’s waiting for him in the living room with his car keys and a slightly put out expression. Steve gets it; one day they’ll figure out a way to make holidays work, where Billy can come to Hawkins or Steve can stay here or something, but today isn’t that day.

Steve wraps his arms around Billy’s shoulders and holds him close. Takes deep, calming breaths of Billy’s smell: shampoo and cologne and sweat. Pretends he doesn’t notice Billy doing the exact same thing with his nose smushed up under Steve’s jaw.

“Have fun with the girls,” he says into Billy’s hair.

Billy snorts against his neck. “You know I will. Probably more fun than you’re going to have.”

Sad but true. Billy’s going to Simone and Donna’s place downstairs for Thanksgiving. Somehow Billy’s charmed them by fixing Simone’s car the first week they moved in and now they cluck over him like two very artsy pot-smoking lesbian mother hens. They’re gonna feed him until he explodes and then the three of them are probably gonna get roaringly drunk. All Steve’s got to look forward to is a series of alcohol-free meals where the average age gets progressively younger each time. He’s definitely not jealous.

Eventually they have to untangle. Steve can already hear the roar of traffic in the street outside; the drive’s gonna be hell. And now ten times worse because he’s still wet between the legs, feels an empty ache where Billy should have filled him up.

It must be written all over his face because Billy kisses him soothingly. “It’s only four days,” he reminds him. “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Sunday. Four days. Steve can do this.

“Yeah, see you Sunday.” He kisses Billy, then again, and again and again, until Billy pushes him back with a hand on Steve’s chest. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

Billy’s already herding him towards the door. “Bring me back some pie,” he says, shoving and shoving. “Pecan or pumpkin. None of that sweet potato shit. And remember – hands off.”

 _Ha_. Like Steve’s gonna forget in a hurry.

The phone rings on Friday while Steve’s lying on the couch watching reruns of _Family Ties_ and trying to not fall into a food coma. It shrills at him for thirty seconds before he realises that his parents aren’t in the house and he’s gonna have to be the one to roll himself off to the couch and walk – no, stagger – no, _crawl_ – to the kitchen to get it.

“Harrington residence,” he says when he finally makes it to the phone. God, eating leftover turkey for breakfast was a terrible idea and he’s got to do it all over again later.

“Steve?”

It’s stupid the way Billy’s voice make his heart skip. “Hey. Hi. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too.” Steve can almost hear the grin through the phone. “How’s Hawkins?

“It’s good.”

He’s not lying either. Hawkins is good. Thanksgiving dinner with his parents wasn’t terrible, even if they seem to have dropped off the face of the earth today. He ate his bodyweight in food. Is going to the Henderson’s this afternoon for round two with Dustin and Claudia, then round three on Saturday at the Wheelers’ house with the whole gang. It's kind of weird that after the summer they all had, everything seems to be more or less normal now. Weird, but good.

“How was yours?” he asks. “How hungover are you?”

Billy hums. “Not so bad,” he says, even though he sounds it, dry and throaty like he’s been singing at the top of his lungs.

“You sure? You don’t sound too hot.” Oh Jesus, Steve spends twenty-four hours at home and he turns into his mom. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

Billy makes a noise like he’s shrugging. “Nah. Couldn’t miss talking to my pretty boy.”

His tone has dropped, gone low in a way that makes Steve shudder. That makes him hold the phone tight with both hands so he doesn’t drop it at the flash of want rolls through him.

“Oh yeah?”

His voice is barely more than a rasp. Fuck, he’s so easy for Billy it’s stupid.

Billy chuckles. “You being good for me?” he asks. “You keeping your hands off what’s mine?”

Oh Christ. The words go through Steve like electricity, make his skin heat up all over in two seconds flat. Good thing his parents are out at the country club or wherever, can’t witness him getting hard in the kitchen with the phone pressed to his ear like some kind of deviant.

“Steve,” Billy says into his ear, “Answer me.”

Steve swallows. It doesn’t help move the lump in his throat at all. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Good boy.”

If Steve moans a little, nobody will ever be able to prove it. Unless Billy’s got a tape deck pressed to the phone, which – Steve wouldn’t put it past him really.

“So I was thinking,” Billy says, all casual like Steve didn’t just nearly cream his pants at those two little words, “When you get back I’m gonna eat you out. Get you all wet for me.”

Jesus fucking wept. Of course the game’s rigged. Of course Billy’s gonna do everything in his power to make Steve self-combust. If he comes in his pants with both hands on the phone and Billy’s voice in his ear, does that count as cheating? Technically he’s not touching himself.

“Bet I can make you beg for my dick,” Billy’s saying. Steve’s hands grip the phone so hard it creaks. He better not break it; there’d be literally no good way to explain that to his parents. “Love it when you get all desperate for me. God, the noises you make – never heard anything like it.”

Steve makes one of those noises right then and there, so loud it echoes round the kitchen. His dick pulses in his pants.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Fuck, _Billy_ –”

Billy laughs, shot through with smugness. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing you. You gotta go to Henderson’s soon, right?”

Steve glances at the clock above his head. He needs to leave in ten minutes. Could get off twice in that time with how keyed up he is.

“Yeah, pretty soon.”

“Okay, baby,” Billy tells him, all sugar-sweet like he wasn’t just spewing filth in Steve’s ear not five seconds ago. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna hang up and go get ready and you’re not gonna touch yourself. You got that?”

No, he doesn’t get that. His dick _definitely_ doesn’t get that, because it’s so hard it hurts. He should say as much. Should just tell Billy to fuck off and then put his hand down his pants and get off like he wants to.

Except Billy’s waiting for him at the other end of the line, all silent and expectant and shit. Because he knows he’s got Steve wrapped around his little finger. He knows all he has to do it call Steve a good boy and he’ll just bend over like the world’s biggest whore.

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles, “I got it.”

“I can’t hear you.”

God, Billy’s such a _dick_. Why does Steve even like him?

“Yes. I said _yes_ , okay?”

“Good boy,” Billy says with a smile in his words that makes Steve’s knees forget what their purpose is. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

When Billy hangs up, Steve rests his head against the wall. Listens to the dial tone and tries to will his dick to calm the fuck down. He could go upstairs and jerk off. No one would know. _Billy_ wouldn’t know. But he’d called Steve a _good boy_ and those words buzz in his chest, under his skin, promise waiting will be worth it. All he has to do is make it through the rest of today and tomorrow and then leave as early as humanly possible on Sunday so he can spent the whole day sitting on Billy’s dick.

He can do it. It’s gonna be hard, pun fucking intended, but he can do it. For Billy.

Steve lasts until Saturday night. Spends Friday with Dustin and his mom in a weird, uncomfortable state of arousal; spends Saturday with Robin and the kids in the exact same way. It’s like being told he can’t get off means it’s the only thing he can think about, even when he’s surrounded by a bunch of teenagers who he absolutely does not need witnessing him getting hard.

“What’s up with you?” Robin asks when Steve wriggles in his seat one too many times while they’re watching a movie – _Miracle on 34 th Street_, and Steve doesn’t want to know what Robin did to get a copy from Family Video on Thanksgiving. She must’ve fought off herds of rabid moms.

“Uh.” If he could tell anyone it would be Robin but he can already picture the look on her face if he starts talking about his dick and Billy in the same sentence. “Itchy sweater?”

Robin’s eyes narrow like she knows he’s lying but thankfully she drops it. In return Steve tries not to squirm any more than he has to.

When he gets home, his parents are out at some dinner party. Won’t be back until late. So he has time to shower and throw some sweats on and drink a glass of water to cool himself down before calling Billy.

The line rings so long Steve thinks Billy’s not gonna pick up, and then it clicks on and Billy’s voice is in his ear, low and kinda sleepy as he says, “Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Steve?” Billy suddenly sounds much more awake than he did a second ago. “Steve, _hey_. How’d it go with the kids?”

Billy’s voice makes his heart swell – and his dick too. It’s some real Pavlovian shit. He’s such a pervert.

“Yeah, it was fun,” he says and his voice cracks a little, goes breathy. Keep it fucking cool, dingus. “Wish you’d been with us.”

“Me too.” Billy huffs; Steve can picture him twisting the cord of the phone round his finger. “It’s weird you not being here.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Steve reminds him.

“What time?”

“I don’t know. Maybe eleven?” Maybe earlier, if Steve can get his horny ass up and on the road.

“ _Eleven_?” Billy laughs like he knows how much of a challenge that’s gonna be for Steve. “You’re gonna have to get up at the crack of dawn.”

“I want to,” Steve tells him. “I want to see you.”

And see his dick. And get fucked by it. Turns out getting off is a powerful motivator.

“Yeah,” Billy says, “I want to see you too. Four days is too long.”

God, if that doesn’t tug right at Steve’s heartstrings. Not that he doubted it – if Billy was affectionate in Hawkins, he’s downright loved up in Chicago. But it’s still nice to hear. Makes it easier for Steve to say “I miss you,” right back.

He doesn’t mean for it to come out sounding quite so desperate though. So much for keeping his cool. Billy makes a real interested noise down the line.

“Is that why you’re calling me, baby? To tell me you miss me?” That voice again, rumbling through him, hot like burning. “Or did you call me so you could get off?”

 _Yes_. “No. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Ste-eve,” Billy singsongs. “Don’t lie to me. Bet you’re hard for me, aren’t you?”

Steve could lie – _should_ lie – it’ll probably save him years of embarrassment. But with Billy’s voice in his ear making his whole body tingle like he’s stuck a fork in an outlet, he’s really got no hope of pulling it off.

“Yes.”

Billy sucks a breath in through his teeth. “How hard?” he asks. And then when Steve doesn’t answer fast enough, “Tell me.”

“So hard.” Are they really doing this? Are they gonna have phone sex right now? This is a new level of depravity even for him. “Fuck, Billy, I can’t – can’t stop thinking about it. About _you_. What you said you’d do. I got hard during the movie when they were kissing.”

Billy’s breath hitches. If Steve really strains, he can hear the rustle of something that might be fabric – or that might be Billy’s hand around his dick.

“Are you – are you _jerking off_?”

Billy’s grin is audible when he says “Yeah.” The noises get louder for a second, like Billy’s holding the phone right in front of his dick. “Listening to your pretty voice gets me so hard.”

That fucker. That absolute asshole motherfucker. That’s not fair – he’s fucking _cheating_.

Well if he gets to cheat, so should Steve. He rests one hand on the waistband of his sweats. Lets his fingers slide down until he can feel the thick ridge of his dick under his fingertips. He’s so hard it _hurts_. It wouldn’t take much. He could just slide a hand inside his pants and give himself a few quick strokes and –

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy says, and his tone is thick with warning, a simmering danger that Steve wants to roll around in. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

Steve freezes. Carefully unpeels his hand from his dick. Wraps it back around the phone so he doesn’t give into temptation again.

“No.”

He sounds exactly as guilty as he is. Billy hums like he knows it.

“You better not be.”

That motherfucker. This is the worst kind of torture. Why the fuck did he agree to this? It seemed like a good idea at the time, but Billy’s ideas always do.

“Billy, come on –”

Billy scoffs. “Don’t act like you’re so hard up, Harrington. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To listen to me get off?”

It’s not. Like, at all. But it’s not such a bad outcome – Billy’s in his ear, groaning deep in his chest, the sound of skin-on-skin, what must be Billy’s fist working over his dick. If that’s all he can get, he’ll take it.

“Such a shame you’re not here, baby,” Billy’s saying. “Bet you look so pretty right now. All hard and desperate for me. Can’t wait to bend you over and get my tongue in you. Gonna taste so good. Gonna make you _beg_.”

Steve’s hips hitch into the empty air. Maybe if Billy keeps talking, he can get off. It’s not that big a stretch to think he can come without a hand on him. Every nerve in his body’s already on fire, every word makes his dick pulse and weep, it wouldn’t take much at all –

Except then Billy’s gasping, groaning, _coming_ and Steve can hear the wet slide of his fist slow right down until it stops and Steve’s hopes of maybe getting off dissolve into nothing.

“Thanks, Harrington,” Billy says, so smug Steve wants to reach through the phone and punch him. “I really needed that. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

Steve’s dick throbs. “You’re the fucking worst,” he says.

Billy just laughs at him, like the true asshole he is.

Steve makes the four hour drive in just over three. Speeds on the highway, cruises through stop signs, runs red lights, generally breaks every rule of the road that he can to get home. Good thing all the cops are tucked up in bed sleeping off their Thanksgiving food coma because he’d definitely get arrested for indecent exposure if he got pulled over, face flushed and dick half-hard in his pants.

When he bursts through the door at ten-twenty, Billy’s curled up on the couch reading, hair piled up in a bun on the top of his head. He looks up as Steve comes in, face so surprised Steve just wants to kiss him.

“You’re back,” he says. Glances at the clock on the wall. “Shit, that was fast. What time did you leave?”

“Seven.” Steve drops his bags, shrugs out of his coat. Holds up a hand as Billy starts to stand. “Gimme a sec – gotta put these away.”

In the kitchen, he shoves the leftovers in the refrigerator that’s already half full of them, steals a bite of the stuffing on the third shelf. Turns around to find Billy right behind him, slamming the refrigerator door shut. Billy presses him back against the door, pins his hips with big, hot hands. Slots his thigh right between Steve’s legs.

Oh fuck, that’s it, that’s the pressure he’s been after for _days_ now. If Billy keeps that up, he’s gonna come in two seconds flat. Maybe faster, what with Billy leaning in to bite at his neck, lick warm and wet over his skin.

“Were you good for me?” he asks.

All the air goes out of Steve’s lungs in a rush. “Yes,” he breathes.

Billy sighs. Rubs the meat of his thigh slow against Steve’s dick until he’s whining and shuddering. “You better be honest with me, baby. I haven’t seen you since Thursday and I _know_ how much of a slut you are.”

The word, that word, rings through him like a bell. Makes his hips hitch. Jesus, he is a slut; he’s only been in the door two minutes and he’s already rubbing off on Billy’s leg like a bitch in heat.

“I haven’t.”

“Steve,” Billy says warningly. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

He’s not lying. Not really. All he did was grope himself a little. Other than that he’s been as good as gold.

Billy nips at his jaw, tugs his earlobe between his teeth. “Tell me the truth, Harrington.”

And there’s that voice, the one that makes Steve’s head spin with the danger it promises if he doesn’t do exactly what Billy wants.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” he admits, “I did – but only for like a second, I swear – and I stopped, Billy, I _stopped_ , I didn’t get off –”

Billy grinds his thigh so hard Steve chokes off with a whine, hands scrabbling at Billy’s shoulders. It feels so good but it _hurts_ , he’s so hard and desperate he could cry with it. 

“That’s a shame,” Billy says and he sounds delighted instead of disappointed. “I thought you could be good for me.”

“I was – I was, Billy, I promise, it was just a second – and I stopped, I didn’t come – please –”

Billy tuts. “You still touched yourself,” he says. “You broke the rules.” Then he flashes Steve a grin that would make sharks jealous. “See, I was gonna let you come like this. If you’d done as I told you. But you gotta learn, baby – only good boys get to come.”

Oh fuck. It hits Steve like a pistol whip, pounds through him. There’s no way he can hold off much longer; he’s on edge, practically a hair trigger. It’ll only take ten seconds, twenty at the most – all he needs is Billy’s leg between his, Billy’s voice pouring sugar in his ear.

But Billy’s already pulling back, mouth curling when Steve whines at him. “Let’s go. Bedroom.”

He stumbles where Billy shoves him on shaky legs. Hovers awkwardly by the bed while Billy shuts the door and closes the curtains. He’s so hard it aches, skirts that real fine line between pleasure and pain. He could just touch himself now – he already broke the rules which means the game’s over. Billy won.

Except the way Billy’s looking at him says the game’s not over. Says he’s gonna keep going until Steve cries uncle or shatters into tiny, messy, come-soaked pieces. And yeah, it’s probably gonna hurt – but that look promises it’ll be worth it.

“Clothes off,” Billy growls. “Now.”

Steve strips as fast as he can. Thank god he wore sweatpants and not jeans. The second they’re off, Billy’s spinning him round and forcing him up onto his hands and knees on the bed. Spreading his cheeks and licking a long stripe over his asshole.

Christ al-fucking-mighty, it’s as good as the first time. Better maybe. Like getting plugged into a battery, like getting hit by lightning, every nerve ending sparking.

Billy settles in behind him. Sucks sloppily on Steve’s hole. Digs his tongue in. Slurps like he can’t get enough. Spit drips between Steve’s legs, soaks his balls. The whole thing’s so fucking obscene Steve’s dizzy with it. His arms give up holding him after the third pass.

It’s good, so fucking good, he’s harder, more desperate than he’s ever been in his life – but it’s not enough. Billy’s only fucking him shallowly with his tongue, is keeping his hands on Steve’s cheeks and nowhere near his dick. He can’t get there like this.

“Billy,” he whines and he sounds like a brat, like a big fucking baby but who the fuck cares? Certainly not him, not with Billy’s tongue pressing past the ring of muscle to lick at his insides. “Come on, Billy, please.”

Billy pulls back. Presses a sucking kiss over Steve’s hole so that he squirms. “No. You weren’t good for me.”

“I _was_ ,” Steve protests. “You know I was. I didn’t come. _Please_ , Billy.”

Billy hums, mouth buzzing against his hole. Steve’s dick spurts. Soaks the bed a bit more.

“I guess you did try to be good,” he says into Steve’s skin. “It’s hard to be good when I’m not there with you, isn’t it? You need me to keep you in check.”

A hand lets go of Steve’s ass and then Billy’s thumb is rubbing over his hole, the tip digging in. Steve groans. Tries to fuck back on it but Billy holds him still, puts his other hand between Steve’s shoulder blades and pushes him down into the bed. Steve’s got no leverage, can’t get Billy to press deeper. It’s the worst kind of tease.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” Billy asks.

“Yes,” Steve manages around a groan, “I have, I swear – fuck, please, Billy –”

Billy scoffs. “Do you even know what the lesson was?”

That Billy’s the biggest asshole Steve’s ever met? That Steve’s a sucker for his face and his voice and his dick?

“That I’m – _fuck_ , that I’m yours.”

He can’t see Billy’s face but he can feel his grin in the way he pushes his thumb in deeper, twists it.

“At least you were paying attention,” he says. “I guess you can come tonight.” And then, when Steve clenches involuntarily around his thumb, “But not yet.”

Steve’s not above begging for it. Is too far gone to do anything else really. “Please, Billy, you said you’d fuck me, please just –”

“Did I say that?” Billy’s voice is all innocent, butter wouldn’t melt. Steve can’t see his face but he’d bet a million bucks it’s really fucking smug. “Nah, I think I said I’d make you beg for it. Didn’t say I’d follow through.”

“No, come on, you gotta –”

“I don’t gotta do anything.” Billy fucks Steve with his thumb, short shallow strokes. It’s still nowhere near enough. “Maybe I’ll keep you like this for a while, all strung out and desperate. Your little hole just waiting for me.”

God, _no_. Or maybe god, _yes_? It’s hard to tell really, everything’s all twisted up in Steve’s head. He wants to come so bad he can taste it, like copper pennies on his tongue. But if Billy wants him to wait, wants to keep pushing him – he’ll do it in a heartbeat. He’ll take whatever Billy gives him and beg for more.

But what Billy’s giving him right now is a fat lot of nothing. Not moving, not even touching beyond the thumb hooked inside him.

He doesn’t move for long enough that Steve’s brain starts to claw back some control. Dials back into the room and not just the heavy throb of his dick between his legs. Over the thunder of blood in his ears he can hear the all-too familiar slap of skin on skin.

Is Billy – is Billy jerking off?

Steve lifts his head, twists as far as he can. Gets a glimpse of Billy on his knees behind him, stripping his dick almost violently.

“Billy, what –”

“Shh, baby.” The thumb twists and Steve’s neck gives up the ghost; his head drops down hard. “Just stay there.”

Like Steve can do anything else but just lie there and take it as Billy comes. As Billy streaks his back, his ass, down over where Billy’s thumb is still snug inside him.

“Jesus, Steve,” Billy pants, “Look at you.”

A hand swipes over Steve’s back, followed by a tongue. Steve twitches, tries to breath, as Billy laps at him. Licks up the mess he’s made. Follows the trail down between his cheeks, slides over his taint, his balls, back to his hole again.

“Oh _fuck_ , Billy –” Just like that everything’s gone from zero to sixty again, he’s right on the edge and every swipe of Billy’s tongue pushes him closer and closer. “ _Billy_ – I can’t, I’m gonna –”

Billy bites at the curve of his ass. “Not yet.”

It’s all well and good saying it but Steve’s burning up like he’s got a fever. Legs shaking, back bowing, eyes stinging where he’s squeezing them shut.

And it only gets worse when Billy pushes two fingers into him, blunt and too dry even with his spit easing the way. It aches in just the right way, adds another log of pleasure-pain to the fire that’s threatening to set him alight.

“I _can’t_ ,” Steve whines and god, he sounds wrecked even to his own ears. “It’s too much, Billy, please, it _hurts_ , you gotta – I gotta – I _can’t_ –”

“Just a little longer,” Billy says. Slides his fingers deeper. “I know you can do it, Steve. I know you wanna be a good boy.”

He’s pressing right up against that sweet spot now, nudging it over and over and Steve’s right there, right fucking _there_ , he can taste it – but Billy said _wait_ , Billy said _not yet_ , and he wants to do what Billy says, he wants to be _good_ for him.

“You’re doing so well,” Billy’s saying, low and heated, sucking kisses all over Steve’s skin. “So good for me.”

Steve whines, high-pitched, tinged with desperation. He’s panting out a collection syllables that might be _please_ or _Billy_ or _you fucking asshole, let me come_ – it’s hard to tell when his brain’s dissolving in a pool of endorphins and adrenaline. When his entire body’s tensing up so hard it feels like every bone could break.

Billy licks round his fingers, laughs when Steve shudders helplessly. “Yeah, that’s it.” And then he must decide Steve’s had enough, has reached the absolute end of his tether, because he finally says, “Come for me.”

And Steve does. Comes with a sob, without a hand on his dick, pleasure ricocheting around his body like a pinball machine, brain exploding, bones liquifying until he’s just a pile of sweaty, dazed, delirious mush. Somewhere Billy’s talking, but it’s just white noise, a distant buzz under the thunder of his pulse in his ears.

Billy must realise he’s zoned out, because he shuts up. Carefully pulls his fingers out. Cleans Steve’s back and slowly, carefully rolls him over to get at the mess on the comforter. Steve goes where Billy moves him, spreads out on his back, limp as a noodle.

“Shit, Steve,” Billy says as he looks down at him, “You okay?”

“Fine,” Steve tries to say but it comes out garbled and raw. Billy’s thumb swipe over his cheeks, come away wet. Is he crying? What the fuck? That’s fucking embarrassing.

Billy kisses him gently. “Stay here, baby, I’m gonna get you some water.”

Steve blinks and Billy’s gone. Blinks and Billy’s back with a glass of water. Blinks and he’s sitting up, Billy pressing the glass to his lips and helping him drink. When he’s done, Billy cleans him up and bundles him under the covers. Curls up behind him and spoons him like his life depends on it.

“You alive?” he asks.

“Mostly,” Steve says. His voice still sounds like he’s been gargling gravel but at least it’s not shaking. He wriggles back into Billy’s hold. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Billy laughs. “Me or my dick?”

“Both?”

Billy huffs a laugh into the back of his neck. “I didn’t hurt you too much?”

Steve thinks it over for a second. Yeah, it kinda hurt and he did cry like a bitch, but he definitely just came harder than he ever has in his life.

“Nah. I liked it.”

“Yeah, you did.” Billy noses under his hair to kiss his skin. Drags his teeth over the same spot to make Steve shudder. “You think you can keep your hands off next time?”

What Steve should say is _there is no next time_.

What he says is, “Maybe.”


	3. Chapter 3

Steve’s _so_ late. Of course he is. Only he would be late to his own goddamned birthday party. Fucking work keeping him behind and fucking traffic delaying him getting home and fucking people all trying to go to the same club as him so he has to queue for twenty minutes in the rain.

Luckily, the four shots of really shitty vodka Billy’d helpfully left on the kitchen counter that he had before trekking up to Boystown are starting to kick in. Everything’s a little buzzy, a little blurry by the time Steve gets inside. It’s packed, the music pounding so hard it rattles his bones. Steve has to shoves his _way_ through way too many sweaty, drunk people for his liking. Finds Simone, Donna and some of the friends he and Billy have made playing basketball and out at bars clustered round a table in the back. Cringes through the round of _happy birthdays_ and hugs and kisses and backslaps. Billy’s nowhere to be seen.

Lori, the super tall redhead Steve just knows Robin’s gonna fall head over heels with, slides her dangerous red drink to him with a grin. “You look thirsty. Drink up.”

“Thanks,” Steve says as he takes a sip. Wow, that’s strong; a few of these and he’ll be fucked up. “Hey, have you seen Billy?”

Lori points towards the dancefloor. “He’s over there. With Jack.”

He follows her finger. Billy is over there, deep in the crowd on the dancefloor, lit up blue and pink under the lights, eyes closed, swaying to the music. With Jack.

Jack’s Billy’s friend from – work? Basketball? The grocery store? From _somewhere_ , Steve didn’t really get the details. He’s always hanging around. Comes by their apartment almost every weekend. Likes to drape himself all over Billy like they’re best buds. Talks to Steve with a passive-aggressive bitchiness that would give Mike Wheeler a run for his money.

Because Jack – Jack’s got a crush on Billy.

Steve can’t blame him; who wouldn’t be into all that? Billy’s got an ass you could bounce quarters off and a mouth that’d make porn stars jealous. But there’s a difference between knowing and _seeing_. And Steve is seeing a hell of a lot right now: Jack’s arm round Billy’s waist, the other over his shoulder, palm flat against Billy’s chest, the two of them moving to the beat of the music, grinding in a way that makes Steve think of high school parties, drunk kids on a makeshift dancefloor. Billy doesn’t even _like_ dancing, unless you can call throwing himself around to screaming guitars dancing. But he looks like he’s enjoying himself, kinda blissed out, head falling back against Jack’s shoulder. Every move of their hips feels like someone’s twisting Steve’s intestines in knots.

He swallows. Fights down the urge to storm over there and punch Jack in his stupid face. “I’ll be back,” he says, ignoring the looks Simone and Donna are giving him. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

The bar’s so crowded he has to push through three rows of people to get anywhere near the front. Everyone jostling, talking and swaying and dancing, and every time someone knocks him Steve wants to scream.

Because what the fuck?

Billy’s his – his boyfriend? Or something. It’s not like they’ve ever put a label on it, but they live together. They share a bed. And now he’s out there on the dancefloor getting groped by someone else. On Steve’s fucking _birthday_.

He’d care less if it was just some stranger, but Jack – Jack’s like Steve 2.0, looks enough like him that they could pass for brothers. But Jack’s just better in every way: he’s taller, more built, softer hair and deeper eyes, a jaw so sharp it could cut glass and biceps that rival Billy’s. Which is to say – he’s hot. Definitely hotter than Steve.

God, it’s like Nancy all over again. But _worse_. Like, a million times worse. Finding out about Jonathan was like a thousand stinging paper cuts, but Nancy hadn’t actually been wrong about the two of them. It was bullshit, his feelings for her were bullshit, the whole thing a stupid teenage fantasy he’d dreamt up with her on a pedestal and him with blinkers on. But Billy – everything he has with Billy, everything he wants with Billy – it’s different. It’s real. If Billy thinks he’s bullshit, _they’re_ bullshit, it’ll gut him.

But maybe it was stupid to think that Billy would stay with him once they got out here. It’s not like he’s beholden to Steve just because he helped him out. He doesn’t _owe_ Steve anything. If he wants to date other people, if he wants to date Jack – that’s his choice.

It’ll break Steve’s heart into a million tiny pieces, but there’s nothing he can really do about if that’s what Billy decides.

He should just leave. Billy probably wouldn’t even notice. Steve can just go home and have some more of that paint-stripper masquerading as vodka and pass out. Billy can sleep on the couch for all he cares. Billy can sleep at Jack’s.

Actually _no_ , fuck him. Fuck Jack and fuck Jack’s crush and fuck Steve’s heart that’s trying to shrivel up in his chest. It’s his birthday. His friends are here. He should drink and dance and have a good time and show Billy exactly what he’s missing while he’s cosying up with his best pal Jack, who doesn’t know shit about him and will definitely freak out when he sees Billy’s scars.

The crowds shifts enough Steve can finally reach the bar. He’s waving down the bartender when a familiar voice says, “Hey, baby.”

Steve turns. Billy’s shoved his way through the crowd, squeezed into the spot next to him. More than a few heads have turned to look at him and no surprise really. Jeans that might as well be painted on, a shirt tight enough that all his muscles look twice the size, and he’s sweaty, shining under the lights like someone’s dumped a bucket of glitter on him. He’s definitely drunk, swaying in place to the beat, but goddamn if he doesn’t look good.

Jack’s not with him, thank fucking god.

Steve un-grits his teeth long enough to say, “Hey.”

Billy bounces up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Happy birthday.” He catches the bartender’s eye, flaps a hand to flag him down. “Let’s get a drink – you want a beer?”

“No.”

Billy blinks at him, all slow, drunk confusion. “Shots? A cocktail?” When Steve doesn’t reply, he rolls his eyes like Steve’s the one being a dick. “Steve, come on. It’s your _birthday_. Let me buy you a drink.”

Is this a joke? Does Billy think that he can just do all _that_ and then pretend nothing happened? The anger flares again, bright and sharp like a poker sliding between his ribs.

“Just realised I’m not thirsty,” Steve snaps at him. Shoves off the bar and through the crowd. No idea where he’s going, just somewhere other than _here_.

He’s almost made it when Billy’s hand slides around his elbow, drawing him back. “What’s going on?” he asks, stepping right into Steve’s space like it’s the only place he wants to be. “We don’t have to have a drink. We can dance? You wanna dance?”

“No thanks,” Steve snaps. Nods to where Jack’s hovering on the edge of the dancefloor, looking at Billy expectantly. “Wouldn’t want your boyfriend to get jealous.”

His tone’s way snippier than he means it to be. Billy glances over. Tilts his head, frowns. It’d be cute if Steve wasn’t so pissed off.

“Don’t be like that,” Billy says. “We were just dancing.”

Oh _fuck_ _him_. There’s dancing and then there’s whatever _that_ was. Something prickles hot and painful behind Steve’s eyes – no, _no_ , he’s not gonna fucking cry in front of Billy. In front of _Jack_.

“We were just dancing,” Billy says again, kinda wheedling. His big warm hands slotting against Steve’s hips like they belong there, and god, it would be so easy to just lean into them, give into the honey-sweet sound of his voice. “Come on. He’s just a friend.”

Steve steps back. Puts as much space between him and Billy’s tempting hands as possible in a club packed with people. “Not many _friends_ I’d dance with like that.”

He sees the moment Billy gets it. Mouth turning down at the corners, a flash of surprise and hurt in his eyes. _Good_. Now he knows how Steve feels.

“Steve,” Billy says pleadingly, “I’m not – we were – look, I’m drunk, okay? I’m drunk and I got carried away and I forgot who I was dancing with.”

Okay, yeah, Billy’s a horny drunk. Gets handsy, touches even more than usual. Gets _hard_ at the slightest thing, practically has a hair-trigger. And Steve knows that, usually likes that, but –

“That’s not an excuse.”

At least Billy has the decency to look ashamed. “I know,” he says. Steps a little closer. Pitches his voice soft and soothing. “I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole.”

Damn straight he is.

Billy manages to catch his hand, slides an arm around his waist, pulls their bodies together. “I’m sorry,” he says again, right into Steve’s ear. “It’s your birthday, baby, don’t let me ruin it. Come on, come dance with me. Let me make it up to you.”

As apologies go it’s not really enough, not with Jack still hovering just out of Steve’s eyeline – but Billy’s right. It is his birthday. Why should Billy being a dick ruin it? He’s buzzing enough that letting Billy kiss his jaw, push their hips together, drag him into the crowd seems like a good idea. He's not forgiven, not yet, but Steve’s blood’s singing with a need to touch him, stake his claim. So he can let it go. For now.

The crowd swallows them up. Pushes them against each other so hard all Steve can do is hold on, plaster himself to Billy’s back, wraps his arms around him tight and hold him close. Just the way Jack was, that fucker. Maybe if he touches Billy in all the places Jack touched him he can burn away any trace of Jack’s fingerprints on Billy’s body.

The music’s so loud, makes Steve’s ears pound, baseline so heavy it jars him every time it drops. He pulls Billy back so their hips fit together just right. Grinds against Billy’s fucking fantastic ass. Feels Billy’s sigh like an echo through his chest as he relaxes, lets Steve hold him up with hands on his hips, sliding under his shirt. Steve hooks his chin over Billy’s shoulder. Looks down the lean line of Billy’s body, that tight t-shirt, where he’s already hard in his jeans. He looks so good, _feels_ so good it’s almost hard to stay mad at him, except –

Steve glances up through his lashes. Catches Jack leaning against the wall through the sea of bodies, eyes fixed right on them. He looks _hungry_. Angry too, gaze burning as he watches Steve’s hands on Billy’s hips.

That motherfucker.

Steve pulls Billy even closer. “Your boyfriend know you’re out here dancing with other men?” he hisses into his ear.

Billy growls, pushes his hips back pointedly. “My boyfriend’s right _here_.”

“You sure?” Steve slides a hand into Billy’s hair, tugs so he has to look up. “That guy over there’s looking real jealous.”

Billy’s breath catches when he sees Jack, like he’s – surprised maybe? “Jesus,” he says, barely more than a whisper over the music. Turns his face away so he can pant wetly against Steve’s jaw. “What the fuck is he looking at?”

 _You, dumbass_. Does Billy not know he’s the hottest thing in here? That he puts every other person in the room to shame with those eyes and those lips and that body? It’s a miracle Steve’s only got to fight off Jack.

“You don’t want him to watch?”

Billy snorts. “ _Fuck_ no.”

“Didn’t seem like you minded all that much before,” Steve points out snidely, “When you two were _just dancing_.” He pulls on Billy’s hair again, hard enough that it has to hurt. “You not hard for him?”

Billy’s eyelids flutter beautifully. “No,” he groans, kinda choked up in a way that makes heat prickle along Steve’s spine. “S’all for you, Steve. Just you.”

Over by the wall, Jack’s hand drops down, rubs over his crotch. What an _asshole_. Of course he’s getting off to this. Of course he wants a show.

Okay, so he wants to fuck with Steve? Wants to take Billy from him? Well Steve’s not gonna make it easy for him. Jack can take advantage of Billy being drunk all he likes, but Steve’s got the upper hand here. Knows Billy like the back of his hand. Can play him like a violin and Billy will beg for more. So if he’s really looking for a show, Steve’ll give him just enough of one that maybe he’ll finally get the message that Billy is _his_.

He meets Jack’s eyes pointedly as he rests his hand over Billy’s belt. Drags his fingers over the front of Billy’s jeans where he’s straining against his zipper. Scratches nails over a nipple at the same time so that Billy moans and rolls his hips back.

Jack’s face twists like he can’t decide if he wants to pant or snarl. Turned on and possessive when he’s got no fucking right to be.

Fuck him. Fucking asshole trying to steal Steve’s boyfriend. On his _birthday_ no less.

“You want him to come over here?” he says against Billy’s mouth. Palms him harder just the way he likes and licks wet over Billy’s lips to taste his whine. “You want him to see you come in your pants for me?”

“ _No_ ,” Billy pants. His head twists, hips jerking like he doesn’t know if he wants to ride back on Steve’s dick or push forward into his hand. “Just want you. Just you, baby, please.”

It’s all kinds of music to Steve’s ears. He slants his mouth awkwardly over Billy’s in thanks.

If only that could be the end of it – but no, Jack’s moving towards them, cutting through the crowd, like Billy looking at him meant something more than it did. Stops a few people away. Close enough that Steve can see the whites of his eyes when the lights flash. Close enough that he can see the line of Jack’s dick in his ugly-ass leather pants. Close enough that the hunger on his face goes from irritating to rage-inducing.

Steve spins Billy around so Jack can’t look at him anymore. Can only see Steve’s hands possessive on his ass, the dip-sway of their hips. Jack looks _pissed_. Fucking good, take a fucking hint. He doesn’t get to see this: Billy so hard for him, hot and throbbing in his jeans, barely able to hold his head up, just letting his forehead against Steve’s shoulder as Steve rolls their hips, their dicks together. He moans something unintelligible as he mouths at Steve’s t-shirt.

Steve kisses his temple, bites the top of his ear. “Let’s go to the bathroom,” he says. Anything to get away from Jack’s heavy gaze.

Billy nods. Doesn’t move. Can’t move. Must’ve hit that point where the cocktail of alcohol and want has taken over his brain. God, it’s so fucking hot when he gets like this, all desperate and mindless. All Steve wants to do is make him come his brains out, preferably at the same time as his own.

“ _Now_ , Billy.” He puts as much space between them as possible. Tries not to combust at Billy’s desperate little whine. “Let’s go.”

Jack tries to get in their way as they cut through the crowd. Hand on Billy’s bicep, reeling him back. “Hey,” he says, eyes flicking between Billy and Steve and Billy’s dick, hard and obvious in his pants. “Billy, _hey_. Where you been?”

Billy turns. Blinks blearily at him like he’s never seen him before in his life. Says something that might be Jack’s name, might just be a confused moan.

Jack’s persistent, Steve’ll give him that. “Billy,” he says again, hand sliding up-up-up Billy’s arm to his shoulder. Practically shoves his palm in Steve’s face trying to wrap it around Billy’s neck. “Come dance with me.”

Steve sees the moment Billy’s brain jumps track from _Steve_ and _bathroom_ and _getting off_ to Jack putting his sweaty hands all over him. His heart shouldn’t sing but it does – Christ, it does, because Billy’s tensing. Batting Jack’s hand away like he’s the annoying fly he is.

Jack doesn’t take the hint, tries to pull Billy into him with a “Billy, wait –”

Steve almost laughs. Jack’s must be a fucking idiot if he thinks he’s gonna get anywhere, especially with Billy bristling, planting his feet, ten seconds away from swinging. Stupid asshole’s gonna learn: you don’t get in Billy Hargrove’s way, you get the fuck out of it.

Except if Billy kicks the shit out of him – as satisfying as it’d be to see – they’ll get kicked out. And that’ll ruin all the plans Steve’s got for the rest of his night.

He slides a hand around Billy’s waist, drags him out of Jack’s grip. “Don’t hit him,” he tells him. “We’ll get kicked out and then you can’t blow me in the bathroom.”

Billy shudders hard, then he shoves past Jack. Knocks his shoulder hard enough that Jack bounces back. Yeah, fuck that guy. It’s no less than he deserves. Steve doesn’t spare him a sneer as Billy drags him off the dancefloor, his blood singing with victory, crowing _yeah, dickhead, he’s mine_.

Billy can’t keep his hands off him as they stumble to the bathroom, through the flimsy door. The guy at the sinks rolls his eyes at them in the mirror but Steve doesn’t give a shit. He shoves Billy into the end stall and locks it behind him. Pushes him against the wall, golden curls bright against the graffiti, _for a good time_ call on one side, _Jesus loves you_ on the other. Billy moans for him, low in his throat.

“You close?” Steve asks quietly.

Billy nods. He’s beautiful like this, eyes glazed and hazy. Frantic. Desperate. Almost delirious. He’d probably let Steve do whatever he wants and god, that’s a heady thought, all the things he could do – but no, now’s not the time to fall down a rabbit hole. They’re in a club bathroom, for Christ’s sake. Gotta get off and fast before someone calls security on them or tries to join the party.

He slots his thigh between Billy’s, yanks on his hips to get a rhythm going. Pins his wrists up by his head so Billy can’t take anything more than what Steve gives him.

Billy whines, hips hitching. “Please, baby,” he breathes, “Touch me. Touch my dick.”

“No,” Steve hears himself say and like, who is this person that’s taken over his body? This is Billy’s thing; he _never_ acts like this. “You wanna act a slut, you get off like a slut. I’m not gonna touch you. You’re gonna come like this.”

And Billy does. Comes riding Steve’s thigh like it’s the Kentucky Derby. So hard he soaks through his jeans, gets Steve’s leg all damp. Gasping and groaning, straining against Steve’s grip on his wrists. It might be the hottest thing Steve’s ever seen, sparks like lightning up his spine.

He has to let go of Billy to fumble with his belt, fingers all stiff and uncooperative with alcohol and the pure fire in his bloodstream. When he gets himself out, Billy drops so fast Steve winces for him. His knees are gonna be bruised to shit tomorrow. But right now he can’t care, not when he can trap Billy between his body and the wall. Take hold of Billy’s hair and just ram his dick into that mouth.

He should be gentler, should be nicer, but his blood’s boiling in the best ways. Brain fizzing with possessive rage, _fuck Jack, fuck Billy_ playing on repeat. And Billy’s just – _taking it_. Just letting Steve fuck his throat hard and rough and probably painful. Pulling Steve forward with hands on his hips until he’s gagging and choking and whining around Steve’s dick.

It doesn’t take much, he’s too wound up – one thrust of his hips, two, three, and Steve’s coming down Billy’s throat. Pulls back too quick so that come leaks out of Billy’s mouth, spills down his chin, absolutely fucking filthy.

God, he should’ve come on his face. Marked him up for Jack to prove that Billy’s _his_. Billy gets hard for _him_ , gets down on his knees for _him_ , comes for _him_.

“Fuck,” Billy says the skin of his hip and Christ, his voice is _destroyed_. “Holy _shit_ , Steve.”

Steve yanks on Billy’s shirt. “Get up here,” he says and Billy rises easily, a little unsteady, falling into Steve’s body like his legs aren’t up to holding him up any more. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Billy grins at him, wide and toothy and so stupidly happy Steve’s heart does a quick tap-dance. “That was so hot, Jesus. I’m gonna have to get you riled up more often.”

“ _Don’t_.”

Shit, his voice is wrecked and raw and painful like he was the one on his knees. Billy blinks at him, confused. Fuck, how does Steve articulate all this stuff knotted up inside him, all this baggage he carries around like the world’s heaviest, shittiest backpack? The hope and the fear and the want and the longing. The bone-deep hurt.

He takes a shaky breath that aches in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. “With Nancy –”

“Fuck,” Billy says, like that’s enough. Like everything makes sense with just a name. “Steve, _shit_ , I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – you gotta know I would never, _never_ do that to you. I’m so, so sorry.” He leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You’re all I want, Steve, you gotta know that.”

It doesn’t totally clear the pain in his chest, but the next breath is a little easier. And the one after that and the one after that. Maybe it's gonna be okay – so long as he can stay here with Billy breathing next to him, saying things like that.

“ _Hey_ , assholes,” someone yells right outside the door. “You done? Some of us need to piss.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for slurs

“Bet you’d look good in those,” Billy says.

Steve glances up. They’re both on the couch reading – Steve’s got some Danielle Steel novel stolen from Simone that Billy keeps rolling his eyes at, the fucking snob, and Billy’s halfway through the new Stephen King that he’s refused to put down since he picked it up. The TV’s on in the background, the chatter of voices filling the apartment. Billy doesn’t seem to want to elaborate so Steve nudges him with his toe.

“What?”

Billy flaps a hand at the TV. Whatever it is isn’t important enough for him to even look up from the page.

Steve looks over. Blinks hard. Because – what the hell? They’ve ended up on the shopping channel, some big blonde woman chattering away while she holds up a pair of lace panties, a model strutting around behind her.

Maybe Steve’s got it wrong. Maybe there was something on before, sweaters or shirts or suits, and he’s just missed it. There’s no way Billy just said he’d look good in a pair of lacy women’s underwear.

“Panties?”

Billy glances up, eyes flicking real quick between Steve and the TV and then back to his book. “Yeah,” he says, totally nonchalant.

“ _Seriously_?”

Billy sighs, all exasperated. Makes a big show of closing his book so he can look Steve full in the face. “Yeah? You’ve got the legs for it.”

Steve tilts his head at the model. Considers her legs, considers his own. Does he?

“I can’t see it.”

Billy shrugs. “I can.” He opens his book again, pointedly shakes it at Steve. “You done? I’m trying to read here.”

And with that he goes back to reading. Like nothing’s happened. Like Steve’s brain isn’t skipping like a broken record.

Billy doesn’t mention it again. Never glances in department store windows when the mannequins are stripped down to their underwear. Seems more interested in Tom Cruise’s boxers than Rebecca de Mornay’s panties when they watch _Risky Business_.

But Steve – fuck, it’s like the worst earworm. Constantly popping up in his head when he least expects it.

Billy thinks he’s look good in panties.

And now Steve wants to know how he’d look too.

Because Billy’s like, _macho_. Lifts weights and drinks beer and works on cars for a living. Steve saw what he was like in high school – Billy always went for girls with long legs and bouncy hair and big tits. And yeah, Steve’s got two out of three but there’s no way he can actually pass for a girl.

But with panties on – that’d be – he’d look – _fuck_.

The only problem is, where the fuck do you buy panties?

There’s no way he’s going to some seedy sex shop and he’s absolutely not gonna break into Simone and Donna’s apartment to steal some of theirs. So department store it is. That’s not so bad. He’s been in department stores before. He can do this.

Except then he’s actually standing in the lingerie department surrounded by rows on rows of bras and panties and a shit ton of other things he can’t think about otherwise he’s gonna pop a stiffy. Oh Christ, this seemed so much easier when it was just a pipe dream. Now he’s doing it it’s terrifying. There are way too many colours and cuts and fabrics, it’s kinda overwhelming. How the fuck is he meant to choose?

He’s been standing there for way too long, trying to decide if he’s gonna throw up or have a very unnecessary and embarrassing panic attack, when a store clerk bustles up to him with a cheerful “Can I help you, sir?”

Steve blushes from head to toe. His face is probably the colour of an overripe tomato. He must look like such a pervert.

“I’m looking for some – panties?”

The store clerk smiles sweetly. “For your girlfriend?”

“Uh.” Take the out, dingus, before this girl calls security on you for being a creep. “Yeah.”

“What colours does she like?”

Steve tries to think what sweaters Billy always says look good on him. “Uh, green? And blue?”

He ends up with a pair the same blue as his Scoops uniform. Lots of lace like the ones on the shopping channel. When he’s paid the store clerk pats his arm gently.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says with a wink. “She’ll love them.”

The bag with the panties gets stashed in the duffel at the back of Steve’s closet until Christmas Eve. In the morning he’s got to trek back to Hawkins for two days with his parents and the kids. It’s gonna _suck_ to be there without Billy. His bed’s gonna be cold and empty and lonely. So tonight’s as good a night as any to put them on. And if Billy hates it, if he looks at Steve like he’s a lunatic, if he calls him a fag or a tranny – well, at least Steve can run away and spend the next few days with his head in the sand.

He digs them out while Billy goes to get the takeout. Carefully undresses and pulls them on. Tries not to shiver at the feel of lace tickling his legs, his junk.

In the mirror they look – kinda weird? They’re barely big enough, just about cover his dick. Look kinda strange with his hairy legs. He definitely doesn’t look like a girl. But the colour’s good. They make his ass look great. And the _feel_ of them – god, he can’t even think about it because he’ll get hard and that’ll ruin the whole surprise.

When Billy gets back, Steve’s sitting as casually as he can on the couch drinking a beer like nothing’s happened, praying that Billy doesn’t notice.

Dinner is a challenge. The lace tickles. His dick’s being squeezed in weird ways. He can’t stop thinking about the look on Billy’s face when he realises what Steve’s wearing. He focuses as hard as he can on the episode of _The Twilight Zone_ on the TV. Tries to think unsexy thoughts about photocopiers and demodog teeth and the last time he went to the dentist while Billy slurps his lo mein like cheap porno. By the time the food’s done and they’re a couple of beers in, he’s squirming in his seat.

“What’s wrong with you?” Billy asks when Steve’s wriggling finally catches his attention.

“Nothing.”

Billy sets his beer down. Pins Steve with those baby blues. “Steve,” he coaxes, “What’s wrong?”

“I just, uh.” Fuck, he’s blushing already. What a fucking amateur. Billy’s gonna bust him any second. “It’s nothing. Really.”

Billy’s hand lands on his leg, warm and heavy and nowhere close to where Steve really wants it. “You gonna miss me while you’re gone? That it?”

Close enough.

“Yeah,” Steve says, as Billy tips him onto his back, drapes himself over him. “That’s it.”

They make out for a while. Billy tastes like soy sauce and grease and beer. It shouldn’t be hot but Steve’s dick just isn’t getting the fucking message. Gets hard pretty much immediately and doesn’t _that_ feel weird, lace tightening around him, scratching over sensitive skin.

Eventually Billy sticks his hands up Steve’s t-shirt, all impatient. Pulls it off. Tears off his own. Next thing Steve’s knows Billy’s hand is on his waistband, dipping under – oh shit, it’s about to happen, Steve is _not ready_ , Billy’s fingers are sliding down-down-down into his sweatpants, brushing over his dick – and then Billy stops. Breaks the kiss to blink at Steve. Looks down at Steve’s crotch like he’s never seen it before.

“ _Baby_ ,” he breathes. “Is that – are you –”

“Uh,” Steve says intelligently. “Merry Christmas?”

Billy’s face goes from confused to surprised, slides right through excited and finally settles into something so hot and hungry Steve’s whole body twitches.

“ _Off_ ,” he growls and his hands are pulling at Steve’s waistband, trying to yank his sweatpants off. “Take them _off_.”

Steve has to grab his hands to stop Billy ripping his sweats in two. “Wait – wait. Can we – in the bedroom.” Oh Jesus, his face is _burnin_ ; the fire department’s gonna need to come and put him out. “I don’t want the neighbours to see.”

Billy’s eyes cut to the window, the darkness outside. He looks like he might protest and like, yeah Steve’s kinda into people being able to see but this – this is different, this should be private. The only person he wants seeing this is Billy

Luckily Billy’s decided he doesn’t want to push him right now. “Whatever you want, baby,” he says softly.

He helps Steve up. Leads him to the bedroom. Sits on the edge of the bed, eyes like bonfires, setting Steve alight.

“Can you – can you close your eyes?”

Billy blinks. Smiles sweeter than Steve expected. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”

Steve waits until Billy’s definitely got his eyes shut to shimmy out of his sweatpants. Shit, this is _a lot_ , he feels so – so _slutty_. Standing there hard and practically naked, just a pair of thin panties clinging to his dick while Billy’s sitting there still fully dressed.

Christ, this might actually be the scariest thing he’s ever done and he’s fought literal monsters. And yeah, Billy _seems_ into it but what if he doesn’t like it once he sees Steve? What if he was just joking? What if – oh god, what if he _laughs_? Steve’s gonna have to go throw himself off the Sears Tower.

He steels himself. Takes a breath. Says, “Okay, open your eyes.”

Billy opens – and Steve gets the express pleasure of watching his brain shut down completely and then try to restart again. His jaw drops. Stays like that for ten long seconds before he seems to remember he’s staring and snaps in shut.

“You did this for me?”

“Yeah.” Steve spins slowly. Gives Billy a glimpse of his ass. “Do you like them?”

“Baby,” Billy says in a voice that could be described as slightly strained but only if Steve was feeling real charitable, “I _love_ them. Fuck, c’mere already.”

Steve wobbles over to him on shaking legs. Lets Billy pull into the open vee of his legs. The first touch of Billy’s fingers to the lace along the tops of his thighs makes his knees tremble. He drags his fingertips over the edging all the way round until he’s cupping under Steve’s ass, squeezing, nails digging in so hard he’s definitely gonna rip something.

“Christ, Steve,” he says as he sucks kisses over Steve’s waist, his stomach, “Knew you’d look good but _holy shit_. Never seen anything like it.”

The heat in his eyes, his voice, makes Steve’s head spin. “You really like it?”

“Baby, this is _amazing_. You’re amazing.” Billy swirls his tongue into Steve’s navel. Drags it down his happy trail. “Can’t believe you did this for me.”

If Steve wasn’t blushing before, he is now. “It’s really not a big deal,” he mumbles, even though Billy’s face say it is.

Billy bites at the waistband of the panties, snaps elastic against his skin. Grins wide at Steve’s groan. “Lie down for me, baby?”

It’s phrased as a question but Billy’s hands are pushing and pulling at him, demanding. Steve spreads himself out like Billy wants and then Billy’s looming over him. _Staring_ at him. At his dick. Steve fights the urge to cover up. God, why is he so fucking shy all of a sudden? It’s not like he’s some blushing virgin. He’s literally wearing panties for the guy who fucks him on a regular basis. This is some _next level_ kinky shit. But there’s just – _something_ about them that makes him feel like a fumbling fourteen-year-old. What the hell is that about?

“Stop looking at me,” he mumbles. Jesus, his blush is gonna melt his face off at this rate.

“Not a fucking chance.” Billy shoves Steve’s knees up and apart so he can settle between them. Slide his hands feather-light down the back of Steve’s thighs to grab his ass. “Christ, what did I do to deserve you, huh?”

And Steve’s just about to tell him to shut it because Billy deserves so much more than just Steve in a pair of panties, when Billy ducks his head to rubs his face all over his dick. Like a fucking _cat_. A very horny, stubbly cat. The scratch of his five o’clock shadow, catching on lace and hair, dragging over skin, punches all the air out of Steve’s lungs.

“Oh god,” he groans, “ _Billy_ –”

Billy shushes him. Kneads his ass. Yanks the fabric tight so Steve’s dick is trapped, dripping everywhere, soaking the lace dark.

“God damn, baby,” he says, voice so low and heated it prickles over Steve’s skin. “ _Look_ at you. So fucking _pretty_.”

Steve’s dick jolts. Christ on a fucking cracker. Who knew _pretty_ was a word that got him going? Not him. Billy calls him pretty boy all the time but that’s – it’s different, okay? This hits the way _good_ hits. The way _slut_ hits. Like a sledgehammer to all his nerve endings, leaves them singing.

“Please,” he manages to say. “Please, Billy, you gotta – _please_ –”

He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. Whatever Billy’ll give him really. And Billy doesn’t disappoint. Pulls the panties aside to play with his hole. Runs his thumb over it, digging in a little, never quite dipping inside where Steve wants him. Jerks him off at the same time. Doesn’t even both to get his dick out, just wraps his big hand over the fabric and tugs.

Shit, it’s so hot Steve’s gonna explode, Billy’s grip just tight enough, wet enough, filthy enough that he can’t help bucking his hips into it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Billy says. Drops his head. Licks wet and wicked down the inside of Steve’s thigh. Sinks his teeth into the crease of his thigh. “Come on, baby. Make a mess for me.”

How’s Steve meant to deny him that? Like he even could.

He comes hard and hot. Soaks himself and Billy’s hand, come seeping white through the lace until the fabric’s absolutely fucking ruined. Jesus Christ, who knew this was gonna do it for him? Teenage Steve would _die_ if he knew.

He needs to stop. Catch his breath or take a hit on an inhaler or something, but Billy doesn’t give him much of a break. Keeps pulling at the panties, smearing come all over his dick, lace dragging over sensitive skin. Won’t let him squirm away even though it’s treading that real fine line between good shivery and painful shivery. Then Billy’s fisted both hands in the fabric. Yanks on them way too hard for how flimsy they are, and Steve says, “Shit,” and “Billy, _don’t_ ,” but it’s too late, Billy’s ripped them. They both stare at the scrap of fabric hanging from his hand, dripping come onto Steve’s stomach.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Billy says, totally fucking smug, “I’ll buy you another pair.”

The words are liquid gold in Steve’s veins. _Another pair_. Billy wants to do this again, holy _shit_. Steve actually hit the nail right on the head for once.

Billy grins down at him. His smile’s got that shade to it that promises something hot and-or nasty in Steve’s immediate future, but Steve’s too boneless and fucked-out to move quickly and the next thing he knows Billy’s shoving his ripped, come-soaked, absolutely fucking _ruined_ panties into his mouth.

What the actual fuck? Steve tries to protest, to take them out because that’s _gross_ , that’s _so_ fucking gross, Billy is the most disgusting human being on the entire planet, but Billy keeps his hand clamped over Steve’s mouth. Pushes the panties in until Steve has to relent, lace scratching his lips, the taste of come on his tongue. Then he’s climbing up to straddle Steve’s chest Barely even manages to get his dick out before he’s coming, all over Steve’s neck, all over his _face_ , splattering over his skin, his hair. That’s gonna be a real pain in the ass to wash out, but Steve doesn’t really give a shit. Not when Billy’s panting like he’s run a marathon. Groaning like Steve all dazed and confused and gagging on a pair of panties is the best thing he’s ever seen in his entire fucking life.

Billy drops down to kiss at Steve’s face, smears come all over himself as he brushes his lips over his eyelids, his cheek, his chin. “Think you can go again?” he asks as Steve props himself up, pulls the panties out of his mouth. “I wanna fuck you.”

Steve’s dick gives a real valiant twitch at that even though his heart’s telling it to slow the fuck down. “Gimme a minute, Jesus. I’m gonna need, like, some water first. And maybe a nap.”

“You can have water,” Billy tells him and it shouldn’t make Steve hot but Billy being all bossy dials him up to eleven every single time. “What time are you leaving tomorrow?” he asks as they disentangle themselves.

“Early.”

Too early. Fucking Christmas. If Steve had his way he’d just spend the day with Billy, lying on the couch eating stupid amounts of food, maybe smoking some weed and having sex and then passing out. But no, he’s got to go to Hawkins. He’s got to see his parents, and Dustin, and Robin, and probably the rest of the party. Friends are so much effort.

“What if I just cancelled?” he suggests. “I could stay here with you.”

Billy grins, says “Don’t be a baby, baby.” He swipes the panties as he clambers off the bed. Shoves them back into Steve’s mouth. “Sooner you go, the sooner you can come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol did the shopping channel show underwear in the 80s?


	5. Chapter 5

“Steve,” Billy yells as Steve’s coming out of the bathroom, dripping water all over the hallway floor. “ _Henderson_.”

That’s not his name. Is Billy going senile? Is this some delayed reaction to his injuries? Does he have brain damage? Or is he having a mental breakdown at age nineteen? Steve needs that like a hole in the head –

 _Stop_ , a voice that sounds like suspiciously like Robin says in his head. Yeah, chill out idiot. It’s too early in the morning to be thinking those thoughts. And besides, today’s meant be a good day – it’s December 31st, they’re less than twenty-four hours away from a new year. So if his brain could tone down the anxiety for a hot second that’d be great.

“What?” he calls.

Billy doesn’t answer, but there’s a suspicious clatter that might be something breaking. What the hell’s going on in there?

Steve follows the noise. Finds Billy sitting at their tiny table crunching through a piece of toast. The low winter sunlight slants through the window, catches on his hair, his cheek, the slick of butter on his lip. He’s so beautiful it kinda makes Steve sick.

When he raises his eyebrows, Billy just points at the phone – which is off its cradle, hanging down with the cord all stretched out until it’s practically on the floor. Faintly Steve can hear Dustin’s voice at the other end saying something that sounds like _what the hell_ _you asshole._ Steve rolls his eyes at Billy as he picks it up.

“Dustin?”

Dustin huffs like a particularly persecuted martyr. “Your boyfriend’s a dick.”

 _Boyfriend_. The word gives him a funny little buzz. God, he’s such a sap.

“So are you.” Steve checks the clock on the wall – ten-thirty, way too early for Dustin’s shit. “What do you want? Shouldn’t you be at the bus station?”

“That’s why I’m calling,” Dustin snaps. “To tell you I’m leaving to go pick up Mike, Lucas and Max.”

Christ, this kid.

“Dustin, the bus leaves in _twenty minutes_. If you miss it because you called me, I’m _not_ coming to Hawkins to pick you up.”

“Whatever,” Dustin says in a tone that means he knows how much of a pushover Steve is and like, yeah, he _is_ but he’s not doing an eight hour round trip because Dustin can’t get his ass in gear. “The bus gets in at three.”

“Yes, Dustin,” Steve replies, “I _know_.”

He does know. He’s had variations of this conversation with half of Hawkins at this point. Mrs Wheeler and Mr _and_ Mrs Sinclair and Joyce and Dustin’s own mother. He gets it. The bus gets in at _three_.

The only parents who haven’t called him are Max’s. Not that Steve wants to talk to Neil Hargrove if he can avoid it. Just like he doesn’t want to know what story she’s spun for them to cover up the fact she’s getting a four-hour bus to a different city to see her dead stepbrother.

Speaking of dead stepbrothers, Billy’s looking at him from the table and smiling and – fuck, it gets him every time, that sweet little smile. Like it’s been raining and the sun’s just come out. Like he’s running late and someone just gave him coffee and a muffin. Like he just found fifty bucks in his pocket. Like – well, like Steve’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

And what the fuck is Steve meant to do other than smile back?

“Are you listening to me?” Dustin says in his ear. “We’ll be there at three. Don’t forget to pick us up.”

Like Steve’d forget. He’s got no interest in listening to them bitch at him all weekend.

“Fuck off,” Steve tells him. “We’ll see you guys later. Be good for Robin.”

“Okay, _dad_ ,” Dustin says.

Steve forces himself to hang up before he can reach through the phone and strangle him.

“They on their way?” Billy asks. When Steve nods, he slurps his coffee obnoxiously. “Still can’t believe those shitheads are staying with us. If they get on my nerves, I’m gonna throw them in the river.”

Now there’s an image. All those brats looking like drowned cats. _Ha_. Steve’d pay good money to see that.

“They’re definitely gonna get on your nerves,” he tells Billy. Drapes himself over his back to steal the coffee from his hand. “But if they do, I’ll make it up to you however you want.”

Billy turns to lick at the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna hold you to that, pretty boy.”

The bus station is edged in gritty grey snow when they get there at three-ten. Steve follows Billy round the building to where the kids and Robin are huddled under the roof. There seems to be a lot of arm waving going on. Robin looks like she’s about to shove them all in front of a bus.

Billy rolls down the window. Leans hard on the horn. Yells “Get your asses in, losers, I ain’t got all day.”

The kids all whip round to look. A few of the bus drivers stare which like, fair enough. Billy’s half-hanging out the window of Donna’s station wagon, looking like the world’s grossest soccer mom. The whole mom-mobile isn’t probably even gonna fuck with his street cred, the fucker. If anything it’s – kind of a good look on him? Not that it makes Steve’s stupid brain think about what Billy might look like driving their kids around or anything, no siree.

The kids hesitate. Have some sort of stupid intense discussion with lots of shoving and hissing and Max pulling a _fuck you_ face at Mike before they all traipse over. Finally, _finally_ the doors open and Robin’s sliding into the front seat, Dustin, Lucas and Mike cramming in the back. Mike makes big puppy eyes at El through the window as Billy screeches out the bus station as fast as a Buick can go.

“How was the journey?” Steve asks as they merge into traffic.

Robin does a thing with her eyebrows that Steve takes to mean _long_ and _shitty_ and _if you don’t get me a drink in the next ten minutes I won’t be held responsible for my actions_. Steve pats her shoulder comfortingly.

“Where were you?” Dustin says peevishly. “I _told you_ we got here at _three_. I thought you’d been _kidnapped_ , Steve.”

This must be what the seventh circle of hell feels like.

“Have you ever heard of this thing called traffic?” Steve asks.

Robin snorts. “If by _traffic_ you mean you and Billy were making out and forgot about the time.”

Mike makes a gagging noise in the backseat. “Can we not talk about that?” he whines.

The hot flush of embarrassment that shoots through Steve is pretty quickly drowned out in the sudden twist of anger. Fucking Mike. Like he and Billy don’t get enough shit from random people on the street who think two guys holding hands or kissing is a crime against nature. He doesn’t need it from his friends too.

Robin turns in her seat to glare at him. “Oh I’m sorry,” she snaps, “Does it make you uncomfortable, Mike? That your friend is a relationship with another man?”

In the rearview Mike actually looks a little ashamed. Good. What a dick.

“I don’t want to hear about you making out with Billy either,” Dustin tells the car when the silence is stretching past awkward and into uncomfortable. “Seriously, Steve, you could do better.”

“Yeah, he’s gross,” Lucas adds.

Steve pulls at face at them in the mirror. “Max is just as gross.”

Lucas pulls a face that reminds Steve way too much of Erica. He wonders which one of them learnt it first. “They’re not _related_.”

He catches Robin’s eye. Rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. Cranks up the radio as loud as it’ll go so he can’t hear the debate about who’s grosser, Max or Billy, over the sweet sounds of Lionel Ritchie

They lose the others somewhere on Lake Shore. Catch up with them as Billy’s stealing the best parking spot out front of the apartment. No one in Billy’s car looks like they want to jump headfirst into Lake Michigan, the lucky shits.

Luckily Mike keeps his mouth shut when Billy appears on the sidewalk. Small fucking miracles. Steve makes a point of catching Billy round the waist as they head inside and kissing him wet and sloppy just to make Mike choke on his own spit. Serves him right, the little fucker.

The apartment is blessedly warm after the biting cold outside. As the kids start pulling off jackets and boots, kicking snow across the floorboard, El sidles up to Steve and slips her hand into his.

“I like your apartment,” she says. Squeezes his hand a little. “It’s nice.”

Steve tries to see what she sees. It’s not a big space, definitely not big enough to fit seven extra people, but it’s bright. His mom would probably call it _airy_. Billy repainted the walls when the moved in. Found some paintings at the flea market that give a splash of colour. Their books are mixed together on the shelves next to the Scrabble game they only break out when they’re high. In the corner is their lopsided Christmas tree, dripping with baubles and tinsel but no Christmas lights – and hadn’t _that_ been fun to explain to Billy.

That is to say – the apartment is nice. It’s not much, but it’s his. It’s _theirs_.

“Thanks.” Steve squeezes back. Her hand feels so tiny and fragile. “You know, you can come stay any time you like. Joyce said it was cool.”

El looks at him like he’s just told her she’s won the lottery. “ _Really_?”

“Yeah. Just maybe not with Mike.”

El considers him for a minute in that creepy-intense way of hers. Whatever she finds on Steve’s face and-or in his head makes her nod. “Mike is annoying,” she says solemnly.

Steve snorts. Isn’t that the truth.

“He’s not Billy’s biggest fan,” he says tactically. “And Billy’s not his. But you could come with Will – or Max.”

The smile that breaks over El’s face is as bright as the sun, just as blinding. “Thank you,” she breathes. “Steve, _thank you_.”

God, sometimes it blows Steve away how big the little things are for her. After all those years in the lab – no wonder she is the way she is. Not for the first time, he’s glad he managed to keep Billy as far away from the government as possible.

“No problem,” he tells her. Ruffles her hair a little to make her wrinkle her nose. “Now, boots off – you’re getting snow everywhere.”

In the living room the kids are making themselves comfortable on the couch and the bean bag Steve borrowed from Simone and the truly ridiculous number of throw pillows Billy got from _somewhere_. Robin’s managed to steal the armchair and is braiding Max’s hair where she’s tucked between her legs.

“Help yourself to food and drinks,” Steve tells them. And then, when Billy gives him a _look_ , “Wait, not the beer.

Every single one of the brats pouts and wow, that hive mind shit still makes his skin crawl nearly six months later.

“Why did you buy it if you weren’t gonna let us drink it?” Mike asks snidely.

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. How many hours until he can kick them out?

“Let me rephrase. You’re not having a beer _yet_.” He glances at the clock as he shoves Dustin along the couch to make enough room for him to sit down. “It’s only four o’clock.”

“But it’s New Year’s _Eve_ ,” Dustin whines.

“It’s still _four o’clock_.” Christ, was he this much of a pain at fifteen? Surely not? “If you start drinking now you’ll be done by ten and then you’ll miss the ball drop.”

Dustin’s sigh could win awards for how aggrieved it sounds. “Just one,” he pleads. “And then we’ll save the rest until later.”

“Nope.”

“Steve.”

“Dustin.”

“ _Steve_.”

“ _Dustin_.”

Thank god Billy chooses that moment to come in from the kitchen with a tray full of soda cans that he pointedly drops on the coffee table.

“Take it or leave it, shitheads,” he tells them. Then, pointing at Dustin squished up against Steve’s side: “Move it, brace-face. You’re in my seat.”

Dustin bristles, but he’s apparently found a hidden well of common sense since Steve’s been gone because he moves. Not quietly, but he does move.

“So when _can_ we have a beer?” Lucas asks as Billy settles down next to Steve. Sets a heavy hand on his thigh and Steve fights not to blush or squirm or get hard.

“Later,” he says. His voice is only a little croaky. Small fucking miracles.

Lucas just rolls his eyes, which is better than noticing Billy’s hand creeping up his thigh. “How much later?”

“After dinner.” For them at least – he’s gonna be cracking open a bottle in the next ten minutes at this rate.

“When’s dinner?” Mike asks.

Steve really does not have the patience to deal with this today. Or, possibly, ever. It’d be so easy to kick them out and leave them to fend for themselves out in the mean streets. They’d probably all die and then he’d be free of this constant annoyance.

“Later.”

Mike’s face twists in a way that says he’s about to start complaining. “But –”

“Shut the hell up,” Billy snaps, “Or I’m taking you all back to the bus station.”

Mike shuts the hell up. They all do. How come they do that for Billy and not him? So _unfair_.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers as the fight over who gets what soda starts up.

Billy nudges his thigh against Steve’s. “You’re gonna make it up to me,” he whispers back. “Several times.”

His voice is low and heated and Jesus, Steve can’t get hard in a room full of his teenage friends. The flush that’s crawling over his cheeks feels like someone’s set fire to his skin. No one will notice, right?

“Please stop whatever you’re doing,” Robin calls over the din.

When Steve glances up her eyebrows are practically kissing her hairline. Okay, whatever, maybe he isn’t very subtle. So sue him. It’s not his fault Billy’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen or heard in his life.

Next to him Billy snorts. Robin tilts her head. Billy’s nose wrinkles. It’s almost like they’re having a conversation and – holy shit, they are. They barely even know each other but Steve can see there’s a whole discussion going on in the eyebrow-raises and eyelash-blinks and corner-of-the-mouth-twitches. Those fuckers. That’s not fair, they never do that with _him_. If they’ve somehow become best friends, Steve’s gonna lose his shit.

“Are you two done?” he says pointedly.

Robin’s eyes flick to him. “I’m so sorry,” she says, in a tone that says she knows exactly what he’s talking about but conveys absolutely no apology whatsoever. The look on her face says she’s mostly amused that he was actually expecting there to be.

Billy pats his thigh consolingly. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re still my number one.”

Dicks. He needs to get better friends.

“So if we can’t drink,” Lucas asks now that the soda argument has been resolved, “What are we meant to do?

Steve shrugs. He’s not their babysitter. Okay, he is but like, he’s not really. They’re teenagers now. And he’s not getting paid to take care of them, he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart. So he’s gonna take the minimum effort, maximum results route – which is gonna involves them entertaining themselves and him sitting back and drinking a beer.

“Play a game or something,” he suggests.

Every single one of them perks up. Fucking nerds.

“What games do you have?” Will asks.

“Dungeons and Dragons?” El chips in.

Billy scoffs. “No, we’re not losers.”

El’s face immediately falls. Oh Jesus, please don’t let her cry. That’d ruin the entire evening – not least because she might throw Billy through the window with her _mind_.

“Billy,” Steve says, exasperation bleeding into his tone, “Don’t be a dick.”

“Yeah, Billy,” Mike parrots as he throws an arm around El’s shoulders, “Don’t be a dick.”

Billy’s face says the kid’s gonna get slapped if he keeps talking. Maybe with the shovel they use for snow in the hallway closet. But El looks slightly less sad so Steve’ll take what he can get.

“There’s Twister and Monopoly in there,” he tells them all, flapping a hand at the cupboard under the TV. Dustin immediately scrabbles for it, the nerd. “And maybe Family Feud.”

“Family Feud,” Lucas and Dustin say at the same time.

“Nah,” Billy says. “That’s downstairs. I never brought it back after Thanksgiving.”

They’ll never get that back then. Simone and Donna’s apartment is like a black hole for board games. In the last few months they’ve lost Pictionary and Trivial Pursuit and Clue, probably to never be seen again.

Dustin rolls his eyes at Billy. That’s brave of him. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll play Monopoly.”

“No way,” Max says sharply. “We played that like, two weeks ago. We’re playing Twister.”

Dustin scowls. “We’re playing _Monopoly_ ,” he says, shaking the box at her. 

Max’s jaw locks in place; god, she looks just like Billy when she does that. “We’re playing Twister.”

Dustin turns big eyes on Steve. “Steve,” he says in a tone that’s verging on whiny, “We’re playing Monopoly.”

Does he think that Steve’s gonna be the adult in this situation? Does he think Steve’s gonna _mediate_? No fucking way. This is one stand-off he is _not_ gonna get involved in. Least of all because whichever way it goes he’s gonna lose – Dustin will be a brat until the end of time and Max will probably just straight up murder him.

Luckily Will’s got his back. “Let’s vote on it,” he says diplomatically, but before Steve gets to see what a Party vote entails El says, “What’s Twister?”

Max’s head whips round, a strange gleeful light in her eyes. Must be scenting victory. “You’ve never played Twister?” she says slowly. El nods. Tilts her head, all confused, like she doesn’t know that her choice overrides everyone else’s. “You’ll love it. I bet you’re gonna be so good at it.”

Dustin looks like he’s gonna explode. “But –”

Max leans over the knock the Monopoly box out of Dustin’s hand. Grabs the bulging Twister pack from the cupboard.

“El’s never played Twister,” she smirks. “So we’re playing Twister.”

As Max harasses the boys into moving so she can lay out the mat, El leans over to lay a gentle hand on Steve’s knee. “Are you going to play?” he asks.

“No.” Hell no. He’s not bendy unless he’s a) full of Russian drugs and can’t control his body, or b) running on adrenaline and needs to get out of the way of teeth-lined jaws as fast as possible. “But Robin will though. She _loves_ Twister.”

Robin manages to force her face into something excited by the time El turns around. “Yep,” she says as El beams at her, “I _love_ Twister.”

 _I hate you_ , she mouths over El’s head when she turns back round. Steve smiles at her. Tries to convey how much he loves her. It doesn’t work; her glare promises revenge.

“She’s gonna kill you,” Billy whispers. “Like, she’s gonna murder you in your sleep.”

Yeah, she definitely is. “You’ll protect me, right?”

Billy laughs. “Against Buckley? No way in hell. She’ll fuck me up.”

“Can you guys shut up?” Max snaps. She’s upside-down, staring at them from under Mike’s arm. “We need to concentrate.”

“If _you_ shut up you might win,” Billy tells her. “And you better win. Hargroves aren’t losers.”

Max sticks her tongue out at him. “I’m not a Hargrove, idiot.”

“Whatever, Molly Ringwald.” Billy stretches out his foot. Nudges the back of her knee so she wobbles and sticks her tongue out. “Don’t fuck it up or I’ll disown you.”

Max shakes her head like she’s mad but Steve can see the pleased tilt to her smile. And yeah, he gets it. He’s tuned into Billy now the same way Max is – they can hear the compliments buried under the insults.

In front of them, Robin’s trying to reach over Dustin’s back to get to a yellow circle. Mike looks a little shaky where Lucas is leaning on him. El of fucking course looks like she’s been playing the game her entire life.

“Ten bucks someone hurts themselves and tries to make it out problem,” Billy murmurs as Lucas spins the wheel. Worms his right hand through the bodies to red.

“Twenty bucks it’s Dustin,” Steve whispers back.

“Fifty it’s Wheeler.”

Steve chokes on his sip of soda. Snorts so hard liquid shoots out his nose. Billy grins at him. Pats his back all magnanimously like it’s not his fault Steve’s nostrils are _burning_. God, he hopes it’s Mike. That’d make his day.

“Fifty bucks and a blowjob,” he tells Billy under his breath. Watches the flush crawl up Billy’s neck even though his face stays exactly the same. “But only if he falls by himself. You can’t push him.”

Billy licks his lips. Is he trying to look innocent? Because he looks guilty as hell. “I won’t push him,” he says, but his eyes are gleaming.

Turns out Billy’s not the one to worry about. Thirty seconds later Mike wobbles dangerously. Loses his balance and headbutts Lucas’ shoulder, nose explode in an explosion of blood. Billy squeezes Steve’s knee in victory; Steve graciously doesn’t point out El smiling at him, swiping sneakily at her nose.

Dinner is _carnage_.

It’s not like Steve expected it to be a civilised country-club dinner party, but somehow he forgot what total fucking pigs the kids are. The frozen pizzas and the chips and the seven-layer dip Billy whipped up _way_ too quickly for his supposed ‘first time’ making it are gone in minutes. He stupidly sends Max, Lucas and Will to the corner store to get more food to stop the ear-splitting whining about how hungry all of them are. Tries not to cry when they come back with more pizzas, more chips, two tubs of ice cream and a bright pink birthday cake. His arteries are clogging just looking at it.

“Would it have killed you to get some vegetables?” he asks them.

Lucas shrugs. “There’s tomato sauce on the pizza.”

“That doesn’t count.” Steve _knows_ Mrs Sinclair raised him better than that, Jesus.

“Can we have the beer now?” Max asks once the kids have decimated the extra pizzas and Robin’s cutting slices of the cake.

Christ, they’re persistent, Steve’s got to give them that.

“Yes, okay.” He grabs Dustin’s wrist as he shoots up. The kid looks like he’s gonna hurdle the couch or something. “But drink it slowly. That’s got to last all night.”

Dustin just grins at him, because he knows Steve’s a fucking pushover who’ll go get more beer for them. Fuck. He’s so predictable. He’s really gotta work on that.

Luckily Dustin comes back with only one beer per person so like, maybe Steve’s rubbing off on him a little after all? Not in a gross way, just in a responsible big brother way. Claudia would probably be proud.

“Budweiser?” Robin says sceptically as Dustin hands out the bottles. “You couldn’t splurge on Corona, Richie Rich?”

Steve shrugs. “They can’t taste the difference.”

Robin blinks at him slowly and silently and very judgementally over El’s head. “I can.”

“I’ve got something better for you.” Steve nods towards the kitchen. “Cupboard above the microwave.”

Robin narrows her eyes suspiciously, which – rude. When’s he ever steered her wrong? Okay, maybe once or twice, but not when it comes to getting _drunk_ , jeez.

Steve rolls his eyes at her. “Just go look, asshole.”

Robin goes, but not without another pointedly sceptical look. Well, joke’s on her because in the cupboard above the microwave are all the ingredients for Robin’s speciality of frozen grapefruit margaritas, which Steve’s planning on hitting hard to get himself and Billy through the night without murdering a teenager. He can tell the moment Robin finds everything, stashed behind the cleaning supplies, because she gasps.

“I take back everything I’ve ever said about you,” she calls. “You’re an _angel_.”

There’s a clattering, bottles clanking together, thudding down onto the counter. Steve’s little alcoholic heart jumps for joy. Billy’s does too apparently because his head tilts towards the kitchen.

“Make me one,” Steve calls before Robin can start the blender. Then when Billy squeezes his thigh, “And Billy too.”

Max’s head jerks when the blender starts grinding. “Are you making margaritas? Can I have one?”

“What’s a margarita?” El asks, licking at the beer foam along her top lip.

“Margaritas are for grownups,” Billy says over Dustin’s explanation of cocktails which – how the hell does he know that? What exactly are these kids getting up to when Steve isn’t around? Steve’s gonna have to have a talk with his mom _again_.

“You’re not a grownup,” Max points out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says. Easily swipes Max’s bottle from her hand and holds it out of her reach. Laughs at she tries to jump for it. “That’s what you get for complaining. Next time don’t be such a little bitch.”

Steve takes Donna and Simone a jug of Robin’s frozen margarita around ten. Gets sucked into doing shots with them and the ridiculous amount of people in their apartment pre-gaming before they go out for the night. Comes back to find someone’s got into his Wham! albums and Robin’s having a dance-off with Max, El and Will in the middle of the living room. The other three are just watching, looking kinda confused. Not that Steve can blame them – the only one who can dance is Max and even that’s questionable. He leans on the back of the couch to watch Will trying to teach El to do the robot.

“El’s drunk,” Mike says.

He sounds kinda – sad about it? Steve glances down – oh, he’s got that longing look he always gets when El’s doing stuff with _other people_. Jesus, what a little lovesick bitch.

“Go dance with her, idiot.”

“No.” Mike’s jaw sets stubbornly. He looks just like Nancy when he does that; once upon a time it would’ve felt like a splinter under his skin but now it’s not even a scab that he wants to pick up. “I can’t dance.”

Steve shoves at his back. “Get up there. All of you get up there.”

Weirdly they all listen to him. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the energy in the air – whatever, Steve’ll take what he can get with these brats.

He stays leaning against the couch, watching the awkward nodding and bopping, until the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Billy’s looking at him, he can tell. It’s like a laser drilling into the back of his skull. It’s some kind of prey sense, an instinct he’s honed over three years of freaky monster shit, a way of his brain making sure his body knows when the predator prowling around the room has got him in its sights.

Sure enough, when he looks Billy’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, staring right at him. Their eyes meet; Billy gives him a _come here_ look, jerks his head. And as much as Steve would just love to stay on the couch and listen to Dustin wax poetic about Suzie and space camp or whatever, that look in Billy’s eyes generally promises Steve’s gonna get his mind blown imminently. So he goes.

In the kitchen Billy’s leaning against the counter pouring himself another glass of margarita. Glances up when Steve comes in.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he says, all casual like he didn’t just summon Steve to his side.

Steve leans against the counter next to him. Reaches over to swipe a finger through the condensation on the glass. “That for me?”

Billy shrugs, says “Could be.” When Steve tries to take the drink, he keeps a tight grip on it. “What you gonna give me for it?”

“What do you want for it?”

Billy’s eyebrow ticks up. Steve shivers all over. Fuck, he’s so easy – all Billy has to do it look at him with those big blue eyes and that stupid moustache he’s grown while Steve was in Hawkins and he gets all hot under the collar.

“I can think of a few things,” Billy says.

Steve swallows hard. “Like what?”

Billy’s grin is sharp enough that Steve feels a flash of panic before Billy steps right into his space. Pins him against the counter with blood-hot hands on his hips. Slides one hand down to cup him through his jeans. Steve fights not to buck up into his touch.

God, it feels _so good_ , like a wildfire igniting in his veins, dancing over his skin as Billy touches him – but wait, _shit_ , the whole party is in the other room. The door isn’t even _closed_.

“The kids –”

“Are busy.”

They’re not busy, Steve can hear them talking and laughing and singing just a few steps away and if they come in here Steve’ll never hear the end of it – but Christ, that train of thought derails fast when Billy squeezes his dick tight. Fully jumps the track and crashes and burns as Steve’s nerves start to spark with every movement of Billy’s fingers.

“Think you can get off like this, baby?” Billy says softly.

Steve makes a noise that might be a word if it wasn’t so high-pitched and breathy and embarrassing. “Yes, I – oh, shit – yeah, yes.”

Except – the noise in the living room is getting louder and louder. Sounds like the start of an argument, Mike and Max’s voices ringing out over the rest. The two of them’re at each other’s throats sixty percent of the time – with booze it must pushing eighty-five. How long has he got before they start throwing things?

“We should go check on them,” he says.

“We should,” Billy says. Doesn’t move his hand off Steve’s dick.

In the living room something hits the floor, shatters and skids across the floor. Steve screws up his face. Those fucking kids. One of these days they’re gonna push him so far he’ll feel fine with ignoring the high-pitched demands to save their stupid asses and then they'll wish they hadn't been such obnoxious little shits all the time.

But today isn't that day. 

He pushes Billy’s hand away. Steals the glass of margarita off the counter before Billy can. Kisses Billy hard enough to taste the sharp tang of tequila and grapefruit on his lips before he slides out of his grip. Billy huffs like a particularly irritated martyr at being thwarted.

“Hey, idiots,” he calls out, “That better not have been the Christmas tree.”

The guilty silence tells him all he needs to know.

With midnight creeping up on them, Billy puts the radio on so they can hear the countdown. When they’re down to sixty seconds until the ball drops, he very pointedly interrupts Steve’s conversation with Lucas about joining basketball or the swim team by dropping into Steve’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck like a horny octopus.

“Can we help you?” Lucas asks in a voice that’s verging on traumatised as Billy presses his face into the space under Steve’s jaw and fucking _nuzzles_ him.

“S’nearly midnight,” Billy mumbles into Steve’s skin. He’s slurring a little, is probably fairly drunk from all the margaritas – ah, that explains why he’s suddenly behaving like a big slutty cat.

“It is,” Steve says back. Slips a hand up the back of Billy’s shirt to feel all that blood-hot skin, a little slick with sweat where he’s been dancing with Max and Will. “You having a good night?”

Billy hums, lips buzzing against Steve’s neck. “Always have a good time when I’m with you,” he says quietly.

Christ, the heat of Steve’s blush could burn the whole building down. He wishes he could blame the booze for the warmth in his chest, the way his head spins. Sometimes he’s staggered by the way Billy makes him feel.

“You two are so gross,” Lucas tells them over the radio announcing thirty seconds to midnight. “Get a room.”

“We have a room,” Steve points out. “Right over there. We can go in it and be really gross if that’s what you want.”

Lucas pulls a face like he’s gonna hurl, but it has the desired effect of forcing him off the couch and leaving the two of them alone. Steve puts a hand on Billy’s jaw. Tilts his head up so he can catch Billy’s sapphire eyes and – oh yeah, Billy’s definitely drunk, eyes lidded, cheeks flushed, smile lopsided but so bright it rivals the fireworks going off outside.

“You having a good night, baby?” he slurs, tilting forward to smear a kiss over Steve’s cheek.

Is Steve ever. He’s in Chicago, in an apartment he shares with his boyfriend, surrounded by his best friends and said boyfriend’s in his lap, drunk and handsy. It’s everything he could ever want out of a new year’s party.

“Yeah,” Steve says, which isn’t even an iota of what he really wants to say – which is more along the lines of _god-fucking-dammit Billy, what did I ever do to deserve you._

Billy nods slowly like he’s not sure his head’s attached to his body. “You gonna give me a midnight kiss?”

The radio’s finally started the countdown and the kids are screaming out the numbers and the windows are rattling from the neighbour’s fireworks but Steve can’t look away from the shape of his smile, big and sweet in a way that makes Steve’s heart stutter.

The kids are yelling out _five –_ he hooks a hand around Billy’s neck. _Four_ – he tugs him closer until they’re sharing breath. _Three_ – “Happy New Year,” he says right against Billy’s lips.

Billy grins. Looks so damn contented and so fucking beautiful that Steve’s heart pounds so hard in his ears it’s surprising the whole apartment hasn’t started to shake. Jesus, he is so, _so_ gone for this guy.

“You too, baby.”

Then Billy’s kissing him and god, there’s nothing like it. Billy tastes mostly like tequila and grapefruit and a little like pizza, but his kisses are deep and wet and so fucking _good_ Steve might go out of his mind. He’s probably chubbing up in his jeans and the kids are definitely watching but holy shit, he can’t care when Billy’s fucking his tongue in so deep it’s like he’s trying to lick Steve’s tonsils.

“ _Gross_ ,” Mike says somewhere behind them, even though there’s no way he didn’t just have his tongue down El’s throat. “Do you mind?”

Billy wrenches his mouth away from Steve’s to glare at Mike. “Fuck _off_ , Wheeler,” he growls.

“It’s our house,” Steve adds. Shit, he’s breathing hard. So maybe they were getting pretty hot and heavy but like, Mike really can fuck off. “You got a problem, go somewhere else.”

Mike grumbles a bit before El pulls him back to her mouth and – wow, if anything gross in here it’s watching the two of them play tonsil hockey. Not that the rest of them are any better. Max and Lucas are inching towards horizontal on the other couch which, shit, he better keep Billy facing this way in case he decides to go full throttle big brother on Lucas’ ass. Robin has her arms around Dustin and Will and judging from the tomato shade on both their cheeks and the smudge of pink at the corner of each of their mouths she definitely gave them both a smooch. She winks when Steve catches her eye, ruffles the kids’ hair.

He rubs a hand up and down Billy’s back as he leans his head on Steve’s shoulder. It’s so crazy that this is it. 1985 is finally over. By far the longest year of Steve’s life. The most violent. The strangest. It wasn’t the year he thought it would be, or even the year he wanted it to be. And maybe he didn’t go to college or start working for his dad or go travelling or any of that shit other people do when they finish high school, but it’s actually worked out okay. He’s got an apartment in Chicago with the hottest guy in his graduating class.

All that shit Nancy said about him needing him to have a plan was bullshit.

He’s doing just fine without it.

Steve wakes to a crash from the kitchen, someone yelling. One of the girls, maybe, or – wait, no, that’s definitely Dustin, just squeakier than usual with what’s probably a really bad hangover.

“The fuck was that?” Billy grumbles into the back of Steve’s neck.

They went to bed sometime around three. Billy had tried to pick up where they’d left off in the kitchen but then passed out in the middle of making out just as he’d got his hand on Steve’s very hard and very neglected dick.

Steve rolls over. Gets a face full of Billy’s truly terrible morning breath before Billy angles his head down so he can nose at Steve’s collarbone and force his hairspray-crisp curls up his nose.

“I think they’re making breakfast,” Steve whispers to him.

God, his head hurts. Even whispering is like a foghorn. He’s never drinking tequila again.

“They need to make it quieter,” Billy whispers back.

Steve kisses his forehead, his eyebrow, the corner of his eye. Long lashes tickle his lips. Billy’s hand is cold as it slides under Steve’s t-shirt at the small of his back, as it dips under the waistband of his boxers.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks as quietly as he can.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

It looks – or feels really – like Billy’s sliding his fingers between Steve’s cheeks to play with his hole. Like he’s trying to work the tip of his index finger in oh-so-slowly. Yeah, that’s definitely what Billy’s doing, no doubt about it.

“The kids are right there,” he grits out as Billy pushes past the ring of muscle. Fuck, it feels good even with his head pounding and his nerves frazzled and jangling.

Billy’s mouth slides up the column of his throat. “Don’t care,” he says right before he suctions onto Steve’s skin to suck what is without a doubt gonna be the biggest hickey Steve’s ever had.

Oh Jesus, it’s _so_ good, that slight hint of pain where Billy’s dragging all his blood to the surface, the ache as he slides his finger in just that bit deeper. But still –

“Billy, the kids –”

Billy lets his neck go with a wet pop. Lifts his head to pin Steve in place with those ocean blues. “I said I don’t care,” he says slowly. “It’s time for you to make it up to me.”

Steve goes hot all over. Pops a stiffy so fast his head spins. It’s not that he forgot about that or anything, it’s just – he didn’t think it’d happen while the kids and Robin were in the next fucking room. The bedroom door’s probably locked but it might not be, they _were_ really drunk last night.

Billy tilts his head. Looks at him all sharp and challenging. “You pussying out on me, Harrington?”

God, Billy always knows how to get him. One day Steve’ll learn to not respond to every challenge that comes out of Billy’s mouth, but it gets him so worked up – and between that and Billy’s finger he doesn’t really stand a chance.

“Just let me check the door.”

Billy purses his lips. Wriggles his finger a little deeper and fuck, it burns in the best kind of way. “Leave it,” he says.

They’re definitely gonna get walked in on. They don’t have the kind of luck that’ll prevent the kids busting down the door the second Steve gets his mouth on Billy’s dick or the moment Billy finally gets balls-deep inside him. But if Billy doesn’t care, Steve can turn off that part of himself that worries about these things. It’s his house after all – _their_ house. It’d serve the kids right for sticking their noses in where they’re not wanted.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says. Pushes back a little onto Billy’s finger. “What did you have in mind?”

Billy’s grin is sharp as a knife, more wicked than the Devil. “Pants off,” he tells him. And then when Steve obeys, “On your stomach, baby.”

Billy preps him fast and rough, a little frantic, barely enough lube to slick the way. “Happy New Year, baby,” he says as he presses in.

Christ, that’s deep. Feels like Billy’s dick is pushing into his guts. And it’s _so_ much better when Billy starts to move. Yeah, his head hurts and he’ll probably puke later – but that all fades away when Billy nudges right up against all the places inside him that make his nerves light up. It’s like a livewire, sparking up his spine, his whole body singing –

And of course that’s exactly when the door bangs opens and Steve looks over his shoulder to see Max and Dustin standing in the doorway, backlit by the sunlight coming in through the windows.

Nobody moves for a very, _very_ long second – and then Dustin screeches “What the _fuck_?” right over Max’s horrified “Oh my fucking god.”

“Shut the fuckin door,” Billy barks at them.

The two of them just blink stupidly at him. Steve drops his head onto his arms. Could you this morning get _any_ worse? Billy isn’t even pulling out, just kinda sprawling on top of him in a way that’s probably meant to like, preserve Steve’s dignity or something but is really just pressing Billy’s dick into him in all the right ways.

“Earth to idiots,” Billy snaps. “The fuck are you still standing there for?”

“Are you – is this –” Max takes a deep breath, eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling above their heads. “Breakfast is ready. We made pancakes. And, uh, set fire to your dishtowels.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. That’s just what Steve needs to start off the new year. Smoke inhalation and forking out an exorbitant amount of money on the same set of dishtowels his parents bought him as a ridiculous moving present so that he’ll have a full set if they ever come over. Hopefully this isn’t a starting as you mean to go on kind of situation – everything about today has sucked, except for Billy’s aborted attempt at fucking him through the mattress.

Luckily Billy seems to be on the same page. “Out,” he growls. “ _Now_. Unless you want to see my dick.”

“No,” Max shrieks in a way that makes Steve’s hangover rear its head with a vengeance. “We’re going, jeez, please don’t flash us.”

Then she stomps away so fast it’s amazing there isn’t a little cartoon dust cloud behind her.

“You too, curly,” Billy says.

Dustin gives Steve a _look_ , one that reminds him way too much of Claudia and very clearly says _this is unacceptable behaviour Steven and you and I will be discussing this later_ , and then slowly – so fucking slowly and pointedly that Steve wants to climb out of bed and smack him – closes the door.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Billy says into the back of Steve’s neck. “I hate them. They’re the fucking worst. They can walk back to the bus station. I hope they get frostbite, the little shits.”

Steve pats his hair in what he hopes is a sympathetic way. “You wanna keep going or…?”

“Yes,” Billy says, licking at the sweat at the top of his spine, but Steve can feel him going soft. Fucking kids. This must be what being a parent feels like. No wonder they’re always so grumpy.

But even Billy’s willpower isn’t enough to revive the mood that the kids have well and truly killed because eventually he pulls out. Strips of the condom and throws into the trash in one shot. Bends down to kiss Steve when he rolls over with a groan.

“Rise and shine,” he says right into Steve’s mouth. “Let’s go see what the fuckwits have destroyed this time. Ten bucks the pancakes are inedible.”

“No bet.” Steve’s eaten Lucas and Dustin’s attempt at pancakes before. It’s doubtful adding four other tweens into the mix is gonna make them any better, even if Robin’s supervising.

Billy pulls a face as he fights his way into his sweatpants. “Pancakes, _Jesus_. If they’ve fucked up my pans, its on you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. Fixes him with a look that promises there’ll be something wild and probably kinky in Steve’s future. “You sure will.”

Steve goes hot all over. Yeah, today’s gonna be rough. His hangover’s gonna make him want to die. The kids are gonna make him want to throw them out the window. But when it’s over they’ll have the apartment to themselves. Then the year can really start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The h and g keys on my keyboard have given up the ghost so apologies for any weird misspellings


End file.
